#and the boss will be lenient. please | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

illubean · 6 months ago

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Bit of a long winded fluff/crack headcanon request: Illumi, Feitan, Chrollo, and Phinks developing the most infuriating crush on a gn! Reader who is just a lazy sopping wet dog of a person?

Reader will nap anywhere.

Will just kind of flop where ever they are when under too much emotional distress and refuse to move

Hell, sometimes they to be physically scruffed and carried/dragged to do social stuff and does the whole liquid cat thing where they go entirely slack just to be difficult. Overall reader's pretty reliable and will (begrudgingly) do just about anything the guys ask if incentivized, they're a surprising understanding and active listener, a highkey terrifying and precise combatant, and could probably be bribed to do anything from cuddle and never speak about it to horrible violations of the geneva convention for snacks and a nice nap afterward. They're incredibly easy to please and not that most/any of the guys would ever admit it but not being near them makes everything feel exponentially worse.

But they're also stubborn, incredibly low energy, and frankly seem a bit stupid on closer inspection to the point the guys are probably questioning "no- god- fuck- why???"

HXH Men with Lazy!Reader

Characters: Illumi Zoldyck, Chrollo Lucilfer, Feitan Portor, Phinks Magcub Type: Crack, Headcanons, Gn!reader

IM NOT DEADDD

Warnings: mentions of violence, mention of pregnancy like once

Illumi Zoldyck

if you didn't have any special nen or whatever he would've killed you by now out of pure frustration

you were set up in an arranged marriage because of your status, and at first Illumi could not care but surprise surprise he caught feelings eventually

and it was upsetting.

1) he was feeling something 2) IT WAS FOR YOUR STUPID ASS

ALL YOU DO IS LAY AROUND THE MANTION AND EAT HOT CHIP

you remind him of Milluki sometimes and that just makes him even more mad

every time you guys are sent on missions together he actually has to drag you because you refuse to do any type of physical labor

if he's feeling particularly nice he'll throw you over his shoulder instead

at this point Illumi is only sent on missions with you to make sure you actually do it

because otherwise you would never be anywhere on time...

you're able to handle your opponents just fine you just...rather not

which is part of the reason Illumi gets so irritated with you

you have so much potential yet don't utilize it

at this point the only solution he can think of is knocking you up (if ur capable of getting pregnant) and hoping the kids don't come out as lazy as you...

Chrollo Lucilfer

with him being the leader of the phantom troupe aka your boss you should probably listen to him without hesitation but your ass does not gaf

he's learned how to deal with you

he keeps candy in his coat pocket just as a bribe if you don't feel like doing something he's asking of you

when he runs out you begrudgingly do what he asks anyways but not without complaints

Chrollo doesn't really mind having to physically move you places himself, considering you do most of his bidding anyways

but that's only because he likes you <3

if you were anyone else he would leave them wherever and whether they get up and follow him back to base is up to them

and because he's so lenient with you you feel bad sometimes and end up sucking it up and walking yourself

he doesn't mind your laziness as much as the others because you get your job done and could probably beat him up if you wanted to so who is he to tell you how to live your life?

he never sends you on missions alone, he needs to be there to make sure you actually do it (no he doesn't he just can't be away from you for too long)

Feitan Portor

this man is on the verge of killing you.

what the hell is the point of Chrollo keeping you around if all you do is lay around doing nothing and talk back when asked to do something??

he swears you act like a 5 year old boy sometimes

when he needs something from you he will threaten physical harm but its actually just empty threats

theres no fighting within the troupe and no matter how much he wishes he didn't, he likes you

and surprisingly, his threats are incentive enough to get you up and moving

most of the time...

other times when you refuse to move or just flop onto the floor he is grabbing you by the ankle and dragging you the rest of the way to wherever you need to go

he doesn't care if you get scratched and bruised up, if you wanted to avoid that then you should've just gotten up and walked by yourself

sometimes to get you to do things the rest of the troupe offers you things on Feitan's behalf

"Hey if you get up and beat this guy's ass with us Feitan will carry you all the way home instead of dragging you" "Like hell I will"

after seeing you in action for the first time Feitan is even more upset that you're so insufferably lazy

you are quite literally one of the most valuable troupe members but you??? never want to follow orders?????? this is literally your job

you're lucky he likes you because if you were anyone else he'd leave you where ever you decided to lay down and let you die there

Phinks Magcub

this man is going to argue with you for DAYS

at this point he feels like you refuse to do anything just because it makes him mad

hes another one who tries using incentives but he never follows through with what he promises

when you ragdoll he will begrudgingly carry you wherever you need to go

this guy battles your laziness with loud, annoying and never ending complaints

and tbh? it actually works most of the time

he gets so annoying that ur like "FINE FINE I'LL DO IT JUST SHUT UP ALREADY"

if you catch him on a good day he'll carry you/give you a piggy back ride without complaints

sometimes he uses your laziness as an excuse just to hold you <3

sry this one is so short I cant think of anything

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klttn · 7 months ago

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Hello again! I was wondering if you'd write a Polyamorous Lucifer and Lilith with a reader who's like their secretary. Both of them are pining after reader and trying to give them hints but reader is very oblivious, she's too caught up in being the best at her job and making the King/Queen proud that she doesn't notice them trying to court her.

𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓀𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓆𝓊𝑒𝑒𝓃𝓈 𝓁𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓁𝑒 𝓈𝑒𝒸𝓇𝑒𝓉(𝒶𝓇𝓎)

— 𝜗𝜚 pt.2 here

pairing : lucifer x lilith x reader

content : slight power play but only because reader is dumb and it’s to get her to listen.

summary : when you landed in hell, it was all chaos and everyone wanted the fresh meat for themselves either to mold or abuse, luckily for you, two very hot blondes found you and decided to claim you as theirs and give you a job.

god how you loved your job, secretary for the big boss of hell himself and his queen, it was a dream. lenient hours, amazing pay and your very own room/office in the prettiest castle you'd ever laid your eyes on.

that's where you were currently, walking through the halls of the place, heading to see the rulers of hell, staring at the angelic patterns on the wall to calm the abundance of nerves in your tummy.

lucifer and lilith always made you so nervous, your heart beat just that little bit faster, your knees go slightly weak. you didn't know why. you don't think they noticed it anyway, you were good at hiding it. right? wrong.

of course lucifer and lilith knew and oh did they revel in it, always trying to fluster you, make you stutter or fumble, loving how cute you looked when you did. eager for your reactions.

it didn't stop there though, it didn't take long for them to want more, need more, crave more of you. they had to have you. they had to make you theirs.

it started small, they'd take you on dates, bring you the prettiest of dresses to wear for said occasion and shower you with praise and affection. but you were still so unknowing, thinking it was just a courtesy.

they had to go bigger, come to your room late at night, lilith in one of those long silky night dresses, beautiful lace cutouts drawing all the attention to her tiny waist. lucifer in nothing but joggers and a fitted t-shirt.

it didn't sound like much but it drove you insane, her so scantily clad, so close to you, a few inches away from being able touch her. and him in something so vastly different from the suit he usually dons. fuck, when he moved you could see the outline of something you wanted to see more than anything.

but. alas. you still just presumed they were simply getting more comfy with you and that was all there was to it. their lingering touches, words they'd leave you hanging by, the very obvious attempts at seduction and flirtation was all just them being nice. right? besides they were married, they couldn’t possibly want you.

you didn't care though you just wanted to be their good little secretary and make them proud, be the best you can be for them, there was nothing more you wanted... well maybe to be theirs in another way. but that's just you being silly.

lucifer and lilith, mainly lilith, decided they'd had enough of being gentle and were getting tired of waiting. endlessly yearning for you to pick up the hints. you were just so oblivious.

so, they're going to ask you to a meeting and they're going to force you to listen. they had to.

♡ ⋆ ˚ ❀ ｡⋆୨୧ ‘

knock knock knock.

you had finally arrived at the large wooden doors of the king and queens office. nerves wracking and anticipation crawling in your skin. they were never so formal about a meeting like this and you were terrified.

‘please be good. please be good,’ played in your mind like a mantra. you’d do anything to continue being theirs. their secretary, of course.

“come in, darling,” you heard lilith say softly through the latched doors.

you needed to look composed, you didn’t want them to know how scared you were, you also wanted them to think you looked pretty, just a little bit.

adjusting your skirt ever so slightly and fixing your hair, you opened the doors to the room, eyes widening at the view in front of you.

“have a seat, sweetheart,” lucifer gestured in front of him.

both him and lilith were exerting so much power together. lucifer sat on a fully padded throne-like chair, legs spread, arms either side, the epitome of hot.

whilst lilith perched her tall body on the edge of the desk, the slit in her dress widening to expose all her thigh, elongating herself, making you feel so small under her.

you’d seen this room a million times, seen them like this a million times, but somehow this felt different.

lilith leaned forward from where she was sat and hooked her slender finger under your chin, eyes sharp and demanding, you couldn’t help but let out a little squeak, “she’s so cute, luci, look at her squirm and she doesn’t even know why she’s here yet.”

“w-why am i here?” you stutter, not daring to move away from liliths touch but also not wanting to.

“you’re here because we need to talk, y/n, about you,” lilith continued, gaze not faltering or failing to meet yours.

your head falls down, immediately presuming the worst. oh. they wanted to fire you.

small tears started to swell in your eyes, “i-i’m sorry, i can do better, i-i promise,” the couple looked at you puzzled, “please d-don’t fire me, i’ll try h-harder, i’ll be better, i’ll b-be good enough” you sniffled, looking up, pleading to the both of them.

lucifers heart panged in his chest, guilt flooding in as he stalked over to you and his wife, “pretty girl, we’re not firing you, and you are good enough, you are such a good girl for us, isn’t that right, lil?”

“of course, baby, you’re our darling secretary, our best girl.”

you were too caught up in your ramble and tears to process all the pretty names you were being called, just focused on their comfort and the slight touch they had on you.

“s-so what do you need me here for?” you say, still worked up and worried.

lucifer shifted where he was knelt in front of you, “well, you see, doll,” he glanced at lilith, who nodded, “we want to court you.”

ohhhhh. it all made sense now.

your sniffles started to slow, “that’s so nice of you guys, you’re so considerate but you see i don’t really need to be dating anyone and-“ you started to ramble, the nerves lifting the more you spoke, “im sure whoever you’ve found is great and all and im sorry if im wasting your time but i just don’t think it’s a good idea and im kinda busy with all my work for you and its just a lot and-“

“darling-“ lilith tried to cut you off.

“well i kinda have my eyes on these two people but you see they probably won’t like me back and they’re married like you, wait no im not saying it’s you, i- it’s just really complica-“

they both rolled their eyes and with one huff from lucifer, his devil horns were coming out and immediately grabbing your attention, stopping your rant.

he grabs your face, softly, despite his form, “y/n, i need you to be good and listen, can you do that for me?” you nod your head, trying to ignore all the different emotions this was making you feel. “good girl.”

lilith pulls your awareness onto her as she starts stroking your hair, “baby, we want to court you, me and lucifer, we want you to be ours.”

your head tilts like a confused puppy as lucifer reverts to his normal state and chimes in, “we’ve been trying for months, all those dates, late night visits to your room, all the pet names we call you, we want you as ours.”

you didn’t know what to do or say, so dumbfounded and oblivious this whole time, how could you be so dumb?

luckily, lucifer and lilith notice you slowly zoning out.

“okay darling let’s try this,” lilith spoke, causing you to look at her, “nod if you want that too or shake your head if you don’t, we promise we won’t be upset either way, okay?” her eyes became so doting, it had you melting for her.

“all we want is your happiness, doll, i promise,” lucifer added.

you nodded shyly, a small smile creeping onto your face.

“you want to be our princess, huh baby?”

you were practically starting to bubble up in front of them, “please please please please please.”

they both let out a little chuckle before locking the doors and moving your pliable body.

they had shifted you with such ease and put you on lucifers lap, “so pretty and smart, aren’t you, my little angel?” he cooed.

you were gradually being pushed up against lilith who was sat on the desk behind him, “yet such a dumb little girl when it comes to us courting you,” she whispered, her mouth latching onto your neck, sending shivers down your spine.

“i think she liked that, my love, i think she likes being dumb for us.”

your heart was racing, mind spinning, almost in a trance with how they were making you feel. you needed them so bad.

“i think so too, sweetie,” lilith stopped the attack on your neck for just a second, “don’t worry, babygirl, we’ll take care of you, no need to be smart right now.”

lucifer grinned, “now let’s make you officially ours, princess.”

A/N : this took so long cause i didn’t wanna mess it up… i’m in love with poly luci and lilith <3 i really hoped you guys liked this!!

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whereireid · 2 years ago

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* ੈ✩‧₊˚ — 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍: 𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐃 | 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

part one | part two — pairing: miles quaritch x fem!reader

summary: — “miles coming back from a mission angry & taking his stress out on reader” and “miles returning from a mission and finding bunny playing w herself”.

— warnings: established relationships, submissive!reader, nicknames (bunny and daddy) - nsfw content - cnc, spankings, rough oral sex [m + f recieving] semi-rough p in v, breeding kink, reader dumbification, orgasm denial, overstimulation

It’s not like you’ve been trying to be naughty.

You try so hard to be a good girl for Quaritch, to please him in every way possible, even when he’s not around. The rules he’s set for you are simple - no touching yourself, no use of toys, and absolutely no rutting against things like the goddamn horny bunny you are.

In the grand scheme of things, though, rules are meant to be broken. Rules that were presented to you under false premises - under the idea that Quaritch would be gone for only a few days when it's now been two weeks. Those are rules that are meant to be broken.

And it’s just like your daddy says — you’re just a horny little bunny who thinks with her cunt and not her brain.

So, that’ll be your excuse when Quaritch discovers what you’ve been doing behind his back. You huff as you clamber onto his pillow, your lips set into a pretty little pout as you straddle it, your fingers curling into the soft flesh as you gently begin to grind your hips against the smooth fabric.

It feels good - satisfies the little pool of arousal that resides within you. Your slick paints the pillow, allowing for easier movement, and the friction from the cover makes your breath shudder slightly, your clit being faintly stimulated as you move. The tenderness of your movements isn’t enough, though — it doesn’t get you going like your daddy does, and you frown, your little hips beginning to rut eagerly at the pillow, speeding up your pace.

And, oh my gosh, it feels so good. It feels similar to how Quaritch’s rough fingers make you feel, and you toy with different positions until you finally find one which has you withering for relief. You shake like a leaf, your eyelids drooping as your cunt pulses, the desperate need to cum dulling your senses, a cry slipping past your pouty lips.

You’re so focused on chasing your high that you don’t even hear his heavy footsteps on the wooden floor. You don’t even see the flash of blue out of the corner of your eye - no, you’re too busy being a naughty, horny little bunny, more preoccupied chasing your own high than paying attention to your surroundings.

Just as your cunt clenches, your stomach growing tight and pooling with familiar warmth, two big hands wrap around your ankles, forcefully pulling you from your position on the pillow. You squeal, your hands rushing downwards to cover your cunt from the fearsome invader, who seethes down at you with such anger, you almost wonder why he doesn’t have steam shooting out of his ears.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, huh, bun?” Quaritch says, his voice distorted, rumbling in his chest, resembling that of a snarl. “I gave you three rules when I was gone. Three. Are you seriously that much of a dumb fuckin’ baby that you can’t even remember them?”

You cry out as Quaritch’s fingers wrap around your wrists, his strength no match for your own as he pulls you up, forcing you on your hands and knees in front of him. “I remember them,” you whine out, your cunt leaking with slick, crying from the loss of touch. “I know the rules, daddy, I promise.”

“Yeah? Then why’d you break ‘em, huh?” His ears twitch uncontrollably as he begins to unbuckle his belt, one of his hands still wrapped angrily around your wrist. “You know, I’ve been more than lenient recently. Been real fuckin’ nice to you, bunny, but you gotta remember who the boss is in this relationship, and it sure as hell ain’t you.”

“Didn’t mean to break the rules! You were gone so long, daddy, it started to hurt!" You protest, voice shaking softly as Quaritch’s fingers wrap around his cock, his lavender tip throbbing with need. You lick your lips, watching as his thumb swipes over the pearl of precum, desperate to have him in you. “Please, daddy, want it so bad. It hurts.”

“Oh, bunny, you don’t know nothin’ about hurtin’ yet,” Quartich seethes, his cock slapping lewdly against your lips, his length beginning to force its way into your mouth. You moan around him, your ass wiggling eagerly in the air, and he grins as you gag around his cock. His hand trail down towards your ass, gently palming at the soft flesh, before raising his palm, and bringing it down in a harsh, fluid motion -

SMACK! - Quaritch hits you so hard that you’re certain it’s going to leave a mark. You don’t expect it - jolting forwards as his hand makes contact with you, your throat constricting as he thrusts into your mouth simultaneously. There’s an evil grin on his lips as he fucks into your mouth, relishing in the sound of you gagging around him, his hand coming down again and again and again, spanking your ass so harshly that you’re crying, gagging, and choking around his cock.

“Oh, bunny, does that hurt?” Quaritch mocks, his balls making lewd, sloppy sounds against your chin, and your throat stings with an overwhelming amount of pain. His cock glides in and out of your mouth, his tip brushing against the back of your throat uncomfortably, a low groan slipping past his lips. “You’re spoilt, baby bun. ‘S my fault, been lettin’ you get away with too much.”

You try to protest, try so desperately to argue that you’re a good girl who listens and behaves and is always so obedient. But if you did, it would be a lie, and the sound of your arguing just sounds like humming, because Quaritch is relentlessly fucking into your mouth, your spit drooling down your chin degradingly as he does so. You’re nothing but a hole for him right now, nothing but a horny little bunny for him to use for his own satisfaction.

“Hurts, daddy,” you manage to gargle out, but Quaritch simply chuckles, his fingers grabbing at everything - your hair, your face, your shoulders, your ass. He’s palming at you like a goddamn cat, grunts leaving his mouth as he fucks your face brutally, chasing nothing but his own high.

“It’s meant to hurt, bunny.”

Nonetheless, though, Quaritch pulls away, cooing as a string of your salvia follows him. His length shines from your spit, and he groans, fisting his cock softly, slowly, slapping the length lewdly across your face. With each slap, you flinch, but your body feels all gooey and warm when the soft, squelchy sounds of his beatings echo around your bedroom.

Quaritch is so relentlessly beautiful, and you stare in awe as little specks of aqua light radiate from his skin. His thick cock brushes against your lips and you relish in the feeling of liberty and freedom for just a second more, before his large hand wraps around your head, and he forces his girthy cock inside of your mouth again.

It’s so degrading. You choke around him, feeling so useless and small, tears pricking in the corners of your eyes as he uses you. It’s a terrible, hurtful feeling - but you’re so wet that your slick is practically dripping onto his bedsheets. The absence of Quaritch's hand toying with your cunt like he usually does makes you hump the air stupidly, and your mouth stings with stretch because his cock is just so stupidly wide.

Discomfort spreads throughout your nerves like fire as he thrusts into your mouth, tears falling down your face and cooling the burning of your cheeks. You want it to stop so badly - you want your daddy to pick you up and use your little pussy, but instead, he’s hell-bent on using your mouth. And you’re so needy and desperate, you wiggle your little ass in the air hornily, but it’s a mistake, because his hand comes down roughly again, cracking against your skin like a whip.

You cry out, choking around his length, tearfully pushing on his navel to escape his relentless thrusts, but he doesn't even move an inch. “You’ve been a bad bunny,” he tells you, the tip of cock beginning to twitch softly in your mouth, “so take it.”

You listen, your ass stilling in the air, and though your skin throbs with pain, you bite back the urge to whine about your discomfort. Quaritch palms at the soft flesh of your ass, quiet groans slipping past his lips as he thrusts into your mouth, his motions becoming sloppy and desperate.

You can taste the saltiness of your tears, because they’re running down your face and painting his cock. You protest, which comes out muffled, unable to stop Quaritch’s cock from pushing against the back of your mouth, again and again.

Your throat constricts as his hips begin to shudder, his balls resting against your chin as he cums. It feels like you’re suffocating, and the twinge of arousal isn’t enough to chill the fear that spreads throughout your spine. Quaritch pumps his cum down your throat and you gag, choke around his length, wiggle your hips, and you push on his navel in an attempt to get away - but to no avail, because he holds you in place, and your strength is no match for his own.

By the time Quaritch pulls out of your mouth, your tastebuds are dancing with the salty aftertaste of his cum, and you’re left gasping for air. You shake beneath him, your round doe-eyes pooling with tears, and Quaritch coos, his thumb collecting some of your spit and some of his cum that had dribbled from your lips when he’d pulled out of your mouth.

Quaritch's thumb forces its way into your mouth, and your eyes flutter, trying to bat away your tears as your cheeks hollow around his finger. “I don’t want you to waste a single drop,” he tells you plainly, his tail swaying frustratedly behind him, ears twitching when you nuzzle closer, needy for his touch. “God, you look like such a mess.”

You blink your tears away, and try to force the pout from your lips, but it’s borderline impossible. Your face is so expressive that Quaritch can read all of your emotions, and he knows that his words have just struck a nerve. “Tried to look pretty for you,” you say tearfully, pushing your head into Quaritch’s palm as his other hand smooths down your hair. “Didn’t know when you were gonna get back, daddy. Dressed up every day for you, just in case.”

“You always look pretty, bun,” he purrs, the bed dipping with his weight as he sits next to you, his fingers meekly rubbing the tears from your eyes. "Even when you look a mess. Just imagine how pretty you’re gonna look, when you're all knocked up with my babies.”

The mention of being full, swollen with Quaritch’s babies makes your stomach pool with warmth, and your eyes begin to shimmer with desire. Shamefully, you wrap both your hands around one of his own, your frame now resting atop of his, your throbbing ass planted on his lap. “I want your babies, Quaritch,” you say eagerly, your heart racing in your chest as Quaritch’s hands gently rub your ass, in an attempt to soothe the pain. “Quartich, I want them so bad.”

“Quaritch, huh?” His brow line quirks upwards, and your face floods with warmth. “What happened to daddy, bunny? Got all eager and desperate to be knocked up, that you forgot this was a punishment?”

You shake your head, trying to calm your nerves, your slick painting his thighs as you correct yourself. "Daddy, I want your babies so bad. Please." You wiggle against him, your hands grabbing at his face, placing desperate kisses against his lips.

Quaritch’s ears flicker on his head, and his eyes soften momentarily as he gently kisses you back. The intimate moment is fleeting, though, and his fingers pinch at your ass and you jolt, pulling away and hiding your head in his chest. “Not right now, bunny. Naughty girls don’t get to decide what you want, and you’re so cockdrunk that you don’t even know what you’re saying.”

You want to protest, argue that you know exactly what you’re saying because you want Quaritch’s babies so bad, even when you’re not rutting against him like a horny little bunny. But the argument would just fall on deaf ears, and you’d only be getting another spanking - which you don’t want, so you stay quiet, nodding your head like an obedient bunny does.

You’re pleased that you did stay quiet, though, because Quaritch eagerly places his face between your legs, beginning to use his face to fuck and toy with your cunt.

It's so much better than rutting against your pillow in an attempt to chase a mediocre orgasm. Quaritch’s lips are pressing eagerly against your pussy, and you try to muffle the gasp which slips past your lips but you just can't. He knows your weak spots - of course he does, you’re his little bunny - and his tongue works at your clit softly, slowly, pressing slow kisses against your cunt.

“You must’ve been desperate, bunny. Look at how wet you are, just from sucking daddy's cock,” Quaritch murmurs, pulling away from your cunt, tongue wetting his lips as he admires just how puffy and swollen and red your pussy looks. It looks desperate to be used - leaking with so much slick that it looks like it’s crying, and he coos, his breath fanning over your sensitive cunt, causing goosebumps to dart up your skin.

“Needed you so bad, daddy,” you cry, your eyes fluttering shut as his tongue skilfully swirls around your clit, lips peppering delicate kisses against you. “Felt so lonely without you here.”

Your hands paw at his head, your stomach pooling with arousal as Quaritch’s tongue toys with you. It feels so good - so painfully good, but every time your little legs begin to shake, he pulls away. He knows you - knows when your orgasm is coming, and he’s denying you of it. Any pleasure is fleeting, slow, dragged out, his tongue swirling against you agonizingly slow.

You mewl pathetically as Quaritch’s lips draw away from your cunt, his fingers caressing the soft flesh of your thighs. “Daddy, I’m sorry,” you whimper, legs twitching at either side of his head as he slowly drags his tongue over your delicate bundle of nerves, his fingers parting your puffy slits. “Please let me cum, I need it,” your voice comes out in a squeak, your stomach tightening as he relentlessly toys with your clit, peppering you with overwhelming waves of pleasure.

Excitement rushes through your body as Quaritch continues to play with your clit, spitting at your cunt lewdly. He doesn’t even swat you away as you start humping against his face needily, and desire pulsates through you when you realise he’s going to let you finish. And you’re so close, your toes curling as he sucks at your sensitive bundle of nerves, your heart pitter-patting in your chest, and your stomach flips as the overwhelming sensation to cum consumes you.

But then it disappears. The fire inside of you burns out, and a broken sob slips past your lips at the absence of your orgasm. You hurt so much - your limbs feel fiery and broken, your muscles sore, and Quaritch blows against your cunt, grinning as your legs flinch shut.

“Oh, bunny,” Quaritch murmurs when your breath begins to hitch, your eyes crinkling shut. Quaritch licks a stripe from your hole to your clit, slow and deliberate, humming as he does so. “You really thought daddy was gonna let you cum? After you’ve been so naughty?”

“Daddy, please,” you cry as Quaritch pulls away for the final time, his hard cock pressing against the soft flesh of your inner thigh, inches away from your weeping cunt. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to break the rules!”

“That’s not true, bunny.” He shakes his head, pulling you forwards slightly, careful as his fingers part your slits, sighing at how sore and needy your cunt looks. “I saw you humpin’ that pillow like a god-damned cat in heat. Jesus, you were ruttin’ away like nobody’s business. But I’ll be nice, bunny, since you’re so needy an’ all.”

“Nice?”

Quaritch hums, his cock sliding through your slits, slapping lewdly against your clit, lewd, wet sounds echoing throughout his bedroom. “I’ll let you cum, bunny. But only around my cock, and only when I say you can. Deal?”

“Will you cum when I cum?” You ask eagerly, your blood rushing to your head as the tip of his cock presses against your hole. “Will you, daddy?”

“I’ll do what I want when I want to,” Quaritch says pointedly, but his ears flicker as he thinks of stuffing you full of his seed when you’re leaking your own around his. “You ready, bun?”

You try to ignore the flash of hurt at his words, because you desperately want him to cum inside of you and get you all pregnant and full like he mentioned earlier. “Ready, daddy,” you say breathlessly, withering slightly as his tip pushes inside of you, stretching your cunt out painfully.

It’s so painful that you feel like you’re dying. The stretch is impossible, and with each slow push of his hips, Quaritch wonders if you’ll split in two around him. He can’t remember you being this tight before - maybe his rules were a little too harsh. Maybe he should’ve actually instructed you to use the dildo he’d gotten made for you rather than forcing you to abstain.

His lips are set in a frown, and his brow crinkles in worry because he wants to punish you but he can tell that going any rougher than this slow, rolling motion of his hips will hurt you. And your eyes are pricking with tears, but not the cockdrunk, needy kind - genuine tears, because the stinging of your cunt is so, so painful.

But also so sinfully good.

Your small hands raise to cup Quaritch’s cheeks, and your nose brushes against his, a broken mewl forcing its way up your throat as you clench down around him. “Want you, daddy,” you tell him as his hands come up to play with your tits, his fingers rolling your nipples skilfully, sending shockwaves shooting down your spine. “Harder. Please.”

“This is supposed to be a punishment, bunny,” he says throatily, but his voice is clouded with lust and a hint of desperation. You’re just too cute to say no to, and Quaritch presses a rough kiss to your lips before his hips begin to roll into you.

Quartich begins to move, his pace quickening, easing from slow and gentle to rough and fast. The stretch burns, but the pain aligns with the pleasure of his tip brushing against the sensitive spot inside of your cunt, and the stinging is dulled by the senseless pleasure that you're feeling.

“You left for so long,” you mutter, your eyes pricking with tears as his hips smash into you, his head lulling into your neck, his tail curling possessively around your ankle. “Only supposed to be a few days.”

“I know, bunny. Couldn’t help but touch yourself, could you? Those rules were just so hard to follow, and you’re just a bunny who thinks with her cunt and not her brain, aren’t you?” Quaritch responds, his words hitching in his throat slightly as your walls clench down around him.

“Yes daddy, ‘m just a dumb bunny who thinks with her cunt and not her brain,” you agree, eager to please him, your eyes rolling to the back of your head in ecstasy as he fucks up into you. Quaritch’s teeth graze your neck, biting into your soft flesh ever so slightly, and you feel him draw blood, but you’re too focused on the rolling of his hips and the painful stretching of your cunt to acknowledge it.

You feel like a broken doll, so raw and sensitive, and you cry as Quartich licks up the blood he’d drawn, his cock rolling into you at an unfathomable pace. The sound of your cries and moans are muffled by the noises of your squelching cunt and his heavy balls slapping against your ass, and you feel so cockdrunk and so needy for him.

“Gonna cum, baby?” Quaritch asks, watching as your eyes crinkle shut and your legs begin to shake, and he moves his hand down to your abdomen, pressing on your belly, watching you squirm. “Go on, then, cum.”

“Want you to cum with me, daddy,” you plead, trying to ignore the tightening of your stomach and the way your body begins to grow weak with every thrust of his hips.

Quartich grunts, watching as you paint the bottom of his cock white with your ring of arousal. “God, bunny, ‘m gonna full you up so good, make you nice and round and pump you full of my babies, huh?”

You cry out when he speaks, nodding your head eagerly, the dull pain of your throbbing ass and your stretched cunt pulsing through you. You’ve tried to hold back, but you can’t, and you clench down around him, gasping as Quaritch tells you, “cum, bunny.”

So, you do. And it feels perfect - so liberating as your cum gushes all over him, your frame shaking against his, and Quaritch’s tail tightens on your ankle as he cums, too, his hips rolling ferociously as he fucks into you desperately.

“Quartich,” you cry, your voice strained, shaky as you embrace him, his strong, Earthly scent clouding your senses. “I need you so bad.”

“You’ve got me, bun,” Quaritch tells you, his head nuzzling into your neck, peppering gentle kisses to your skin. “You’ve got me. I’m not goin' anywhere.”

There’s a dull throbbing inside of you by the time Quaritch pulls out of your cunt. He’s not even fully soft - still somewhat hard, but he eyes your exhausted frame, and his features soften. You look so battered and broken, and he feels somewhat bad, because you’ve been so desperate for him.

He was only supposed to be gone for a couple of days, and it did transcend into two weeks. So, when you make grabby hands at him, Quaritch simply abides, pulling you into him, smoothing down your hair, and holding you close to his chest.

If he had it his way, he’d never leave you again.

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absurdthirst · 1 year ago

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Kinktober 2023: October 15th

Day 15: Boot Worship, Spanking/Flogging/Whipping/Caning, Lactation/Breastfeeding

Dieter Bravo x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: Post-pregnancy, lactating, pumping, breastfeeding kink, paying to drink breast milk, drinking milk, breast play, grinding, frottage, cumming in pants

|| Kinktober List || MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

There are some perks to being Dieter Bravo’s assistant. As crazy as he can be and put you through stress and odd situations, he is a fairly lenient boss. When you had come to him, explaining that you wished to be a surrogate for your sister who was unable to carry a child, he was cool with it.

Did it stop the 2AM calls because he couldn’t find his favored crocs, or didn’t remember the name of that 24-hr Mexican restaurant? No. But he let you take off for all the doctor’s appointments without too much complaint, stopped doing drugs around you since it was bad for the baby, and insisted that you have a chair on set next to his to sit down in at all times. In actuality, it was pretty sweet.

You had planned on coming back to work right away, since the baby was immediately going to your sister from the delivery room, but Dieter had pitched a fit. Telling you that even though you didn’t have a newborn to take care of, you still needed to recover from giving birth. You had compromised, telling him that you could recover and still manage his calendar from his admittedly comfortable couch.

You hadn’t expected the questions. Dieter is one of those enigmatic souls that there is no telling what will pique his curiosity, but you hadn’t expected it to be your breast pump. Your sister and you decided that you would pump your milk for at least the first few months, or as long as you could.

Dieter was obsessed. Like a kid with a new toy, you found him playing with the pumps. There were two that you could wear inside your nursing bra to let you pump while you just went about your day. Removing them and draining them into the storage bags as needed and putting them right back on.

He was staring at your breasts, frowning slightly as he looked away and then looked back at them. As if he was figuring something out. Until you realized he was trying to decide if you had the pumps on or not. He kept muttering to himself, shaking his head and walking out of the room abruptly. You would think that he was on drugs again, except you haven’t ordered any from his regular supplier in nearly two months.

So it’s a complete surprise when you are sitting on the couch, nearly two months after you have given birth and settled back into your routines with Dieter that he plops down on the sofa beside you. “How much would I need to pay you to drink your milk?”

Freezing, your jaw hits the ground in shock. Immediately flustered and wondering what the hell is he talking about. Drinking your milk? He wants to taste it? Pour it into his cereal? What?

“Dee, what? What the fuck are you-”

“I can’t stop thinking about it.” He groans, shuffling closer and staring at you with wide, pleading eyes before his gaze drops down to your breasts and he groans. His hand moves down to his crotch, almost covering himself like he’s trying to hide something before he grabs a pillow and shoves it in his lap. “Please, I - fuck, I’ll give you a thousand dollars. Give me….two ounces.”

“Dieter…”

“Two, all I’m asking for is two. The baby can spare that, right? You’ve been pumping like 80 ounces a day, right? Around that?” His tone is slightly whiny, begging like he always does when he really, really wants something.

It shocks you that he’s aware of how many ounces of breastmilk you are pumping. That means that he’s got to be looking in the freezer. You’ve been storing it here since you are here more than your own house and having it sent over to your sister’s.

“You want to buy two ounces of my breast milk to drink?” You ask, wanting to make sure you understand what the fuck your boss is asking you. “For a thousand dollars.”

“Two, two thousand.” Dieter ups the price, biting his lip and swallowing harshly. “A thousand dollars an ounce. Please, I know it’s weird, I know that I shouldn’t ask, but please, please just let me have some.”

His eyes are earnest, begging you. Almost more intense than the first time he has if you would have sex with him. Finally finding something he wants more than sex.

“I don’t know…”

“I can’t stop thinking about it.” He rushes out, his face twisted in embarrassment but Dieter has no shame when there is something that he wants. He’s willing to humiliate himself as long as self-gratification for whatever he is obsessing over happens. “Drinking it, sipping it. Swallowing it down. Knowing that it is supposed to feed me. Feed a baby, I mean. It’s natural. The most natural food a man can have.” He justifies it, always good at finding reasons for why he needs to have what he wants. “It fucking- fuck, baby, it fucking turns me on. The idea of drinking your milk.”

You can tell he wasn’t supposed to say that. From the way he immediately snaps his mouth shut and recoils from you, like you are going to reach out and slap him. Maybe you should slap him. It’s a slappable offense, but you aren’t.

“Two thousand dollars, for a chance to drink two ounces of milk?” You don’t dismiss the idea, or slap him and that makes Dieter perk up. Immediately nodding, making his disheveled hair wave eagerly.

“Yeah. Please?” He begs again. “I promise I won’t ask you to sleep with me again or go get my coffee. Ohhhh your milk in coffee.” You watch as he rolls his eyes back in his head at the thought, the pillow being crammed against his lap even more and you huff.

“How many times have you jerked off thinking about drinking my milk, Dee?” You demand, making your boss nearly cringe at the question.

Ducking his head and turning a range of mottled reds in mortification, he mumbles too quietly for you to hear. “- times a day.”

“What?”

He mumbles again. “-day.”

“I can’t hear you.”

“Seven or eight times a day!” Dieter finally shouts, grabbing the pillow from his lap and shoving it over his face to scream into it while your brows shoot up in surprise. You know Dieter has a high sex drive, but you never imagined he could go that many times.

While he is having his fit, you think about it for a moment. It’s two thousand dollars and you’d rather your boss ask you to drink your milk than some random pregnant lady on the street. You wouldn’t put it past him. Despite his tendencies, Dieter is actually pretty respectful. He doesn’t push when he’s rejected and if you say no, you know that he will be disappointed but he won’t get angry.

You aren’t wearing the pumps, thank goodness, so it’s easy to manage when you pull away the pillow from your boss's face and straddle his thighs, putting your milk filled tits in his face.

“I- what are you-” Dieter chokes out, eyes wide and fixed on the tops of your tits, wanting to touch you but this wasn’t what he asked for.

“You don’t want to drink straight from the source?” You ask innocently.

The fact that you are on his lap makes you fully aware that Dieter’s cock is hard. Letting you feel the way that it jumps when you ask if he wants to drink from you. Not hiding his love of the idea even a little bit.

He groans, tearing his eyes away from your breasts to look up into your eyes. “Yeah? Really?” He asks, still not touching you, but his hands are hovering over your hips, wanting to settle on them. “I- you would let me do that?”

“You can’t squeeze them.” You caution. “They are tender, and sore a lot of the time. But if you want to, you can nurse, suck the milk from my tits and drink it down.” It was good timing, because you were going to have to pump anyway.

“But I-” He seems to be completely stumped as to why you would offer more. No one ever offers more when he is desperate enough to pay for what he wants. “I’ll be careful.” He promises, leaning forward to nuzzle into your bosom and inhale the slightly milky scent of your skin.

You feel the way he twitched under you. That admittedly impressive cock throbbing against your core in a way that you hadn’t thought about before this moment. He’s hard because of you. Because of this infatuation with your tits, your milk.

Those hands that you had worried would be carelessly eager are almost timid. Asking if he can take off your shirt, or if you would prefer to just lower your shirt. You explain that it feels better to just lower your shirt and he quickly agrees. His fingers almost worshipful as he gently pulls your breasts out, taking your warning to heart as he positions them in his face and gets his first good look at your hard nipples and burgeoning jugs.

“Oh god. I just want to…” he lunges forward and snuggles his face between the breasts he is holding almost reverently. Nearly motorboating you but just breathing deep. “Fuuuuuuuck.” He hisses, throbbing even more underneath you and you swear that you feel a bit of wetness transfer from his sweats to your leggings.

You wrap your arms around him, for stability, for a lack of places to hold onto him, bringing him closer and you feel him sigh into your skin. As if he has found a place he wants to stay.

It’s not too long before he wants more. His lips move along your skin in a surprisingly romantic scattering of kisses, as if you were his lover.

His arms slowly slide around you as he kisses around your nipple, tilting his head down, and he groans when the warm, wetness of his lips wrap around a hard nipple to pull it into his mouth.

Dieter’s hips rock up, grinding up into yoh and he twitches harshly when he tugs on the nipple, letting the first spurt of milk hit his tongue. His groan is so loud, almost pained, it covers the gasp that you give at the sensation.

It’s so different from the pump. Warmer, wetter. More intense as he starts to suckle eagerly. Gulping down mouthfuls of milk as fast as he can while dragging you closer, making you grind down on his cock from the movement.

You get lost in the feeling of it all. His cock hard and throbbing under you. Pressing against your sensitive clit as your hips rock. The subtly erotic sensation of his whiskers against your skin. Eagerly letting him switch from breast to breast as he drinks you down.

Dieter drinks more than two ounces, far more than you had agreed on, but neither one of you pulls away, even trying to stop. He’s gorging himself on the warm, slightly sweet milk in great, greedy gulps, groaning as he swallows.

You don’t realize you are about to cum until you do. Stiffening in his arms, you push your breast into his mouth more as your back arches, a harsh cry escaping your lips. Pleasure washing over you in waves, and you don’t realize that Dieter is moaning your name. Rocking his hips up harshly to keep the friction going until he’s throbbing against your core. The warmth of his cum coating the inside of his sweats as he cums in his pants, drunk off your breast milk.

“Holy shit.” You pant as he pulls away, milk drunk and softening underneath you as he swallows one last time.

“Fuck, baby.” He groans. “Can we do this again tomorrow?”

#pedro pascal #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #absurdthirst kinktober #dieter bravo #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo smut #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo imagine

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mentality-project · 9 months ago

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Carry Me Home - Part 2

Morpheus x fem!reader

While being tucked into bed by the King of the Nightmare Realm was lovely, waking up with a hangover from Hell was not.

A pitiful groan works its way up your throat as you roll over to the cool side of your bed, trying to find relief for your overheated skin. You kick off the blanket as you snuggle into the cold, trying to will your body back to sleep as you chase after the last scene of your dream.

After a few more moments of tossing and turning, you admit defeat and blink open weary eyes. Once the waking world comes into focus, the sight of painkillers and a tall glass of water on your beside table greet you.

It could only be Morpheus’ doing. You weren’t capable of such forethought last night. With a grimace on your face, you drag yourself upright enough to pop the pills in your mouth and chase them down with a gulp of water. Its at the temperature of ice water despite the lack of condensation and you could cry from the relief it brings your parched throat.

“Fuckkk…I love you, Morph.” you mumble against the rim of your glass as you lean back against the headboard.

“He loves it when you say that.”

The speed at which you turn your head towards the raven perched at the end of your bed nearly gives you whiplash.

“How the fuck did you get in?”

“The bathroom window was open.”

“Oh.”

You and Matthew sit in comfortable silence as you continue to sip your glass of heavenly water.

“What did you mean by that?”

“What?”

You shoot Matthew a death stare over the rim of your glass.

“Oh, the boss loves it every time you say you love him. Makes him feel all warm and fuzzy inside.”

You nearly snort water out of your nose. “Dream? Warm and fuzzy? Seriously?”

“I am being serious!” Matthew’s feathers puff up with indignation, "Every time you say those words, Dream becomes a much more lenient boss. He takes whatever opportunity he can get to be close to you." "That's..." you clear you throat, wishing there was some water left in your glass, "That's a lot of information before breakfast."

"Sorry, kid. Rough night?"

"Fun night, rough hangover." you manage a grin as you set the empty glass back down, "Wanna stick around for a cuppa tea, Matthew?"

"I'd love to."

"Cool. Be a dear and boil the kettle for me, would you? There should be enough water in it. I'm gonna have a quick shower first, feel free to help yourself to whatever's in the kitchen."

"Don't have to tell me twice."

Matthew swoops out the door as you drag yourself off to the bathroom.

--- You hear the sound of the kettle switch flicking off and the rumble of boiling water as you round the corner, drying your hair off with the towel draped around your shoulders.

"Feeling better?" Matthew asks from his spot on the kitchen counter.

"Definitely," you sigh as you hang the damp towel over the back of one of the chairs, "What kind of tea do you fancy today, Matthew?"

"Earl Grey, please." "Milk, sugar?"

"Yes to both." You take two mugs out of the cupboard, pausing as you notice the small parcel by the kettle. It has your name on it.

"What's this?" you ask as you tug at the string to unwrap it.

"Hangover cure from the Boss."

"Dream was here?" you blink over your shoulder at Matthew.

"Nah, he had me send it over. Under strict instructions to make sure that you drink it. Not allowed to come back until you do."

No wonder Matthew agreed to stick around for breakfast. You almost snort with laughter as you unfold the wrapping, which turns out to also be a handwritten note from Dream. Upon seeing the size of the cloth teabag, you swap your mug for a tea bowl and begin to read as you pour the hot water into it.

Your Grace,

The corners of your mouth creep up into a smile. Could it be? Do you share an inside joke with the Dream Lord now?

According to the dreams of the best apothecaries in the Waking World over the last millennia, this tea contains the best herbs to help alleviate the aftermath of overindulging in alcohol. I hope it is of use to you. - Morpheus

You are practically glowing as you lift the note to your lips and press a kiss to the parchment.

"I love you." your whisper, watching in amazement as the note dissipates into sand and stardust.

You lift the bowl to your lips, taking care to blow a couple of times before taking a careful sip, eyes widening in surprise.

"Huh...not bad."

"Where's mine?" Matthew squawks in an accusatory tone.

"Sorry, sorry."

You get to work brewing Matthew his cuppa, changing your mind about the kind of mug you originally picked and deciding on a wide teacup to make drinking more convenient for him. You ratio the water and milk out so the tea is at the perfect drinking temperature before placing the drink in front of him and heading over to the toaster.

"Would you like some toast, Matthew?"

"Sure, I'll have a slice."

"What do you want on it?"

"Got any butter?"

You retrieve the tub of butter from the fridge, along with some avocado and smoked salmon for yourself - that combo with a sprinkle of black pepper has you in a chokehold lately. After you butter Matthew's toast accordingly, you rip it up into bite-sized pieces before sliding the plate towards him. Matthew murmurs his thanks before digging in with gusto. You lean your head against your palm as your elbow presses into the countertop, watching Matthew as you chew your own mouthful of toast, contemplating. Eventually, you're brave enough to break the silence.

"Why'd you tell me all that stuff?"

"Hmm?" Matthew buries his beak in his tea, the hum being the only indication that he heard you.

"About Morph, and how...how he feels about me...?" "Honestly?" Matthew stares you down and you stare back at him, "there's only so much one can take of watching the slowest slow-burn ever." You gulp down on your tea so fast you start to choke on it.

"C'mon kid, between you and me, you know you've gotta be the one to say something. The Boss has all the time in the world. He's Endless. By the time he works up the courage to make first move, you'll be dead and buried. No offence."

"None taken." you mumble around a mouthful of toast. There's not much conversation after that and you're quite content to eat the rest of your breakfast in silence. Matthew's given you a lot to think about. -- "Hey Boss, how's it going? (Y/N) drank that tea you sent her, all of it. And...Boss? Hey, you okay? Boss?"

Matthew tilts his head at the sight of Morpheus on his throne, but for all his trying, Morpheus doesn't appear to hear the loyal raven.

No, he's far too occupied with the lingering feeling of your kiss pressed into his cheek from his stardust, fingertips still on his cheekbone as if he's trying to keep the feeling there. In his other hand, the parchment materialises, your words scrawled in the smallest print as if it is a secret:

'I love you.'

#not my gifs #the sandman #netflix the sandman #morpheus x fem!reader #morpheus x reader #dream of the endless x reader #dream x reader #dream of the endless #lord morpheus

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baylz · 3 months ago

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INTRODUCTION - Ctrl Freaks

BACKSTORY : the three became a trio during college when they were always cramming and pulling all nighters for their classes and now they live in the same apartment complex. they each have a spare key to each other's house...much to akaashi's dismay.

ABOUT THEM !

- bokuto posted a video on how to make bread to promote the bakery. a clip of him went viral where his arms were FLEXING while kneading dough. he has no idea what's going on either (kuroo laughs at him whenever he asks about the edits). he also gives away free baked sweets to kuroos employees.

- kuroo is a very lenient boss so he doesn't care when he finds the chocolate fingerprints y/n leaves on his papers. he also likes to occasionally break into akaashi's apartment because he knows akaashi will overwork himself so he's always there to remind him.

- akaashi is a journalist he eats, sleeps, BREATHES journalism. he is aware of the smell he gives off because he has a tendency to fall asleep on his printed paper copies but he isn't sure if that's the cause of it. he doesn't really care anyways. bonus fact: akaashi carries a journal with him EVERYWERE he goes and writes about different people he meets.

#akaashi keiji #hq akaashi #akaashi x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu akaashi #akaashi fluff #akaashi x you #akaashi smau #akaashi x y/n #akaashi keji x reader

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sunlightmurdock · 2 years ago

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The Odyssey | Prologue | Bradley Bradshaw (18+)

Masterlist | Next Chapter

Bradley wakes up in a foul mood, your ego takes a hit. A deal is struck to ensure that you’ll be able to graduate.

warnings: enemies to lovers, power imbalance (professor / student relationship), age gap (22 / 33), will be smut, virgin reader, swearing, infidelity. warnings to be added on a chapter by chapter basis. 18+ minors dni, wc: 3.1k

…

Nine weeks into Spring semester, six to go. Six more weeks of having scalding coffee, missing tastebuds and a fucking freshman girl ranting into his ear all before the clock even hits 8am. Bradley’s sunglasses sit perfectly across the bridge of his nose, gold-framed Ray-Ban caravans that hide how late he was up last night. This means that sweet, little freshman Bettie O’Riley can’t see the look that he’s giving her as she jogs along to keep up with him.

Hallowed halls, filled with young adults that either reek of cheap beer or Daddy’s money, all signs would suggest that Bradley isn’t supposed to be here. Only thirty-three, sitting at that awkward age that makes him neither a frat boy nor a balding tenured ex-businessman turned lecturer. And yet, his brown leather shoes hit these aged floors every morning on the way to his first class of the day.

Beige, almost cream-coloured, wide pleated dress pants and an untucked blue shirt, rolled up at his forearms and missing the top button. His messenger bag draped from his shoulder, his tie balled into the hand holding the to-go double shot espresso.

Six more weeks until he’s in Italy for two months, teaching during the mornings, free as a bird in the evenings. Sun on his face, limoncello on his tongue; good books, women who don’t just giggle and twirl a strand of their hair at him. History. All funded by the Cornell school of Arts and Sciences. He damn near sighs at how badly he wants to be there now.

“Bettie, I already told you,” He sighs, adjusting the gold-framed sunglasses and shooting a look down at her and her wispish black, curled bob. “I can’t curve your grade, it was a C minus.”

She speeds up and steps in front of him, walking backwards now. “Please, Professor Bradshaw. I’ll do anything.”

Professor Bradshaw rarely draws a reaction from him these days. Only his bosses and parents call him that. He makes a point of scrawling it across the chalkboard at the beginning of each semester, but he’s usually still reminding kids a couple of weeks in to just call him Bradley.

Still, both he and Bettie O’Reilly know that it isn’t her method of address that makes him scoff at her. He stops walking and pushes his sunglasses up into the feathery brown curls that adorn his face, staring down at her like she’s even younger than she is. She swallows, regret flooding her. The other professors usually lean into the kind of virginal, good-girl, bad student thing that she’s got going on.

“Bettie,” Bradley speaks slowly for her, pink lips against tanned skin. Warm eyes against a cold stare. The hallways are full around them, standing stationary in the steady stream of students. “Don’t come onto me like that again. Study.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Alright, come to my office tomorrow morning, I’ll give you an extra credit assignment,” It’s more lenient than he should be with a girl who just propositioned him before he has even finished his morning coffee, but Bradley knows not to blame little Bettie. With those thick, rounded glasses and dark freckles, he knows that she gets a lot of attention from her other professors. The culture they’ve created in this school isn’t her fault. Neither is the fact that Bradley’s class is notoriously hard to pass. “We’ll talk through what an A grade paper should be looking like. Do me a favour and don’t talk to me until then.”

He steps around her and continues; she’s swallowed instantly by the sea of bustling students. In the run up to the end of the semester, people start showing up to class again as it hits them that their professors might actually fail them. There aren’t too many F’s floating around in a school like Cornell. Its stats are exceptionally high, especially these past few years. It would seem that, in a school like Cornell, a passing grade quite simply has a price tag on it.

Three minutes before his morning class is due to start, and having woken up on the wrong side of his bed, Bradley drops his sunglasses back down over his eyes as he strolls into the lecture hall. It’s surprisingly full for a Monday morning. The gossiping never stops when he walks in — he’s not that kind of teacher. He allows the whispering to continue while he sets up his supplies.

There are six people in this room that Bradley has not seen since the first week of class. Every single one of them has a parent that is a benefactor to the university. Front and centre, surrounded by a group of excitedly whispering, well-dressed young women, there’s you. He knows you vaguely, knows that you’re coasting on high B’s. He hasn’t seen you since January, you won’t be passing this class.

“God, look at that rock!” The blonde to your side fawns, grabbing at your hand and lifting it up towards the light to get a better look. Setting his sunglasses down on the desk, Bradley looks too. There’s a silver band with a big diamond on it around your ring finger. You’re beaming. Dressed in a white turtleneck and fitted blue jeans, Bradley’s got his assumptions about the family you come from, and the family you’ll be marrying in to.

You’ve been taking his classes for the full three years that he has been teaching here. He knows your boyfriend. Malcolm something something the third. Maybe fourth. His Daddy paid for the science wing refurbishment last year. Bradley remembers the night that your Prince Charming ditched you out in the snow, drunk out of your mind. You probably don’t remember that night.

“Good morning.” His booming voice obliterates the pleasant chatter coming from your friend group. You cross one leg over the other and look downwards at the glimmering rock on your finger.

Six more weeks until you’re out of this hellhole. An apartment in Manhattan all lined up and Mac’s place with his father’s firm long confirmed by now, it’s all coming into place. You’ll have a summer wedding at the end of August, and then you’ll truly begin your life.

“Tell me all about it! Did he get down on one knee?” Veronica nudges her white tennis shoe into yours and leans across to you, tapping her pen against the white-lined page of her notebook. Between the two of you, Catherine readies herself to take down notes that you’ll copy later.

A decent string of A to B grades and a diploma, that was the agreement, and then your life is all yours. That was all your father had held you to. You hadn’t ever promised to do something with the degree he had paid for.

Why would you? — Your mother hadn’t. She had studied literature, made friends for life, and met her husband. Then, she began her life. Having her children, shopping in the afternoon, tennis on the weekends. Bliss.

“Of course he did!” You confirm eagerly, leaning over Catherine to continue the conversation.

The first five minutes of a lecture determines everything. If he loses their focus now, then he might as well leave now and take an especially early lunch. He starts off with a quick reminder of their upcoming exam, and a nod towards last week’s discussion of Roman literature.

His attention is quickly diverted to the excited whispering happening six feet from him, right in the front row. Your friends aren’t bad students. You weren’t ever a bad student. It has just become clear that you were in college to find a husband, and now you’ve found one. Bradley’s eyes narrow in on you and your preppy, little friends, giggling at the front of his class.

Exhausted, overworked and underappreciated, Bradley stares at you calmly. You conversation comes to a slow stop as an awkward air of silence fills the lecture hall. He’s just standing at the front, staring right at you, waiting for you to shut up.

“Sorry, Bradley, somebody just had some exciting news.” Catherine smiles shyly at him. He knows her the best out of the three of you. She TA’d for him last year. Great girl, really bright future — to generous when it comes to grading. It’s because of his respect for her that he doesn’t jump to humiliating you right away.

“I can see that, congratulations,” His tone is dry, broad shoulders squared, his face unamused as he looks to you. You stare back at him calmly, giving a curt nod — less than polite in your mannerisms. “Now, if those of you that still have a chance of passing this class could please turn your attention back to me, we’ll give the blushing bride her moment afterwards.”

He opens the little brown, leather bound book in his hands and clears his throat, assuming that your rude interruptions are done for the day. Somehow, the awkward silence that sits heavy in the room grows to an even deeper low after you retort.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re excused.” Bradley deadpans, bored. You squint at him, six feet between the two of you and a lifetime of differences. Unimpressed by his joke, you roll your eyes right away.

Sitting there, you cross one leg over the other and sit forwards, frowning at him. He doesn’t fit in around here and you do, perhaps that’s where his problem with you stems from. Perhaps it’s the lack of ring on his own finger. “Why would you assume that I wouldn’t pass your class?”

As much as he knows of you, you know of him too — he’s supposedly a jackass. “Because you missed half of the semester. That includes two quizzes and a term paper. There’s no way for you to achieve a salvageable grade in this class.”

When you’re around Malcolm, sometimes he says things that are just so entitled that you’re wincing before he’s even done talking. He can’t help it. He means well. With the amount of time you’ve spent at his family home in the past few weeks, it’s no wonder that words you would normally wince at are spilling from your own lips, “I was planning a wedding, what do you expect from me?”

“Attendance.” Bradley snips. He raises his eyebrows slowly, waiting for you to pack up your pretty, coordinated stationary and walk yourself out of his class.

“But—“

“Goodbye, Mrs. Ashworth. Congratulations again.” Bradley speaks harshly, calling you by a name that isn’t even yours yet like it’s an insult. Like he’s better than you, somehow.

Your pencil slams down onto the half desk in front of you, eyes ablaze. Perhaps the first time you’ve ever been told no. “If you fail me, there will be consequences.”

The silence that fills the classroom this time isn’t awkward. It’s just anticipation, baited breaths, waiting for Bradley to lose his temper. He walks a few paces closer, close enough to smell the cherry scented perfume on each of your pulse points.

His eyes darken as he dips his head just slightly, meeting your gaze. “You’ve got me shaking in my boots, honey. Now, stop wasting my time and get the fuck out of my class.”

There are certain lines that a professor does not cross when working at an Ivy League. Swearing at the daughter of someone with more lawyers than Bradley has living family members, was not his brightest idea. Still, your father is an amicable man — he keeps on saying that — and he wants to work this out. Bradley gets to keep his job, you get to graduate. Everybody wins.

“Classics majors work closely with individual professors in their areas of expertise, often in small classes, and have many opportunities for independent research and travel,” Doctor Kazansky’s voice is calm, teetering on the edge of cold. It’s growing increasingly difficult these days to put up with snotty parents and their snottier children. “I’m sure you understand why attendance would play such a strong part in succeeding in such a major.”

Bradley braces himself against the radiator, glancing down at the watch on his wrist. Real Italian leather that a girl’s grandfather had made for him a few years back. He’s missing happy hour for this circus.

“Of course I understand, Doctor Kazansky,” Your father might as well be a parrot for how well he has learned to mimic tone. You cross your legs at his side and sit up a little straighter. The way you tense up at his voice is so routine, it’s almost Pavlovian. Bradley watches wordlessly. “Just like I’m sure that you understand that in this university’s hundred year history, it has never failed a member of my family and my daughter will not be the one to tarnish our impeccable reputation here.”

You glance up quickly, catching the look on Bradley’s face. He squints disapprovingly at your Charles Dickens villain of a father.

“What can she do to bring her grade up?”

Now that, admittedly, does come as a surprise. This isn’t the first meeting that Bradley has been called into where someone’s parent demands a better grade. It is the first where he hasn’t seen them resort to bribery before they finally blame their kid.

“She missed over half the semester,” Bradley answers perhaps too quickly, still hot from the way you had spoken to him earlier. He gives a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders and looks at your father rather than you. “Two quizzes and a term paper. Even if I gave her extra credit, she couldn’t pull her average above a D.”

Your father’s face doesn’t react at all to this information. Instead, he turns his attention back to the Dean and rests his hands on the armrests of the chair, slowly raising his eyebrows.

“What about the Italy trip?” Doctor Kazansky looks to Bradley, sitting back in his chair. Bradley stares blankly back at him. “There were two empty spaces from what I remember. Is that correct?”

“For research assistants,” Bradley’s tongue drips venom, his brown eyes dark and his arms folded across his chest. You narrow your eyes at him, knowing that an insult is coming next. “She can’t research what she doesn’t even understand.”

“But, if she were to complete extra credit for the rest of the semester and then accompany you for your research, she would have enough credits to pass your class and then graduate.” Doctor Kazansky explains, more for your father’s benefit than Bradley’s. Bradley already knows this.

He grits his teeth, eyes darting across to you. His only solace is that you look just as dismayed about the proposal as he does.

“I’d graduate late.” You point out.

“Better than not at all,” Your father intercepts, pushing his chair back and standing. He carries himself like a man much taller than he really is. “Thank you, Doctor Kazansky. We’ll be in touch about this research opportunity.”

“You can’t just choose to do it, there’s an application process.” Bradley’s tone is far from professional, it’s downright snarky by this point. He doesn’t care. He can’t imagine anything worse than lugging a brat like you around Italy with him for two months, just for you to fail anyway.

You stand to follow your father, ditsy white loafers on the dark oak of Doctor Kazansky’s office floor. Bradley remains where he is, leaning back against that wall with his arms crossed.

Your father smiles across at Bradley and then shoots a look back towards the Dean. It’s smug, knowing. That process doesn’t apply to him. “We’ll be in touch.”

There’s a final look shared between you and the oaf that just cost you your summer in Manhattan — the first time that the two of you have agreed on anything, a silent exchange. Neither one of you wants you to join him on that trip.

He watches you leave, following blindly after your father like a child, then whips his head around to his boss.

“It’ll be good for her, maybe you can actually teach her something.”

“My expertise unfortunately lacks when it comes to setting the table by seven sharp and getting the kids to bed before her husband makes it home.” Bradley scoffs, pushing himself away from the wall and shaking his head as he straightens up.

“Is there something offensive to you about a woman being a homemaker, Professor Bradshaw?” Thomas Kazansky has two daughters. One, is a wife with two beautiful children of her own. The other, is a doctor. Bradley’s been over to their house a few times and he knows that Tom makes a point of it to be equally proud of them both.

“Oh, give me a break,” Bradley rolls his eyes at the notion, despite the subtle truth it holds. He shakes his head. “She deserves to fail and you know it.”

“Well, we’ll see how she does at the end of summer. I’ll be the first to admit my defeat, if she fails.” Tom gives a small smile and a shrug of his shoulders, always too calm for his own hood these days. Apparently he has mellowed with time, Bradley hears that he used to have quite an attitude in his early career.

Pressing his tongue to the inside of his cheek, the younger professor tries to stare his boss down. Tom knows how much these trips mean to Bradley, he takes his work so seriously. Still, Tom just stares back at him, calm.

Squinting, it takes a few moments for Bradley to give up. He turns and growls in frustration, letting the door to Doctor Kazansky’s office slam behind him. His shoes echo through the halls as he storms out of the building and across the quad. Not even Bettie O’Reilly would dare to interrupt his when his face looks as stormy as it does now.

He shrugs his bag off of his shoulder and throws it into the back of the bronco, then shoves his hands into his pockets in search of his keys.

“Do you even understand how hard I have worked for you to have the opportunities that you have had?”

Bradley glances up. He isn’t surprised to find that you’re the one being yelled at. He almost snorts — good, it’s about time someone reigned in that attitude of yours.

You stand, tearful, at the side of your father’s expensive Porsche, your head bowed in shame. Bradley unlocks his truck and pulls himself into the driver’s seat. He figures you probably cry a lot when someone’s telling you no.

“I mean it! — If you ruin this opportunity, don’t even think about coming back. Hopefully Malcolm’s family like you, because they’ll be all that you’ve got, I swear.”

Bradley turns his head slowly. Swallowing to keep from sobbing in the parking lot, shame burns through you as you meet his gaze. Your father towers over you, demanding to know if you’re even listening to him.

Bradley turns the engine on, his brown eyes looking decidedly less scary when he isn’t glaring at you. There’s something else. Maybe it’s pity — you aren’t used to that. He turns his head away and reverses out of the spot.

…

Tags: @thedroneranger @batdanceq @wkndwlff @sunflowerziva @cassiemitchell @himbos-on-ice @bradshawseresinbabe @damrlova @fudge13 @xoxabs88xox @mak-32 @sihtricswife @callsignvenus @callsign-joyride @harper1666 @sheisanangell

#bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #miles teller #bradley bradshaw smut #rooster x you #rooster bradshaw imagine #top gun smut #bradley bradshaw au #bradley bradshaw x reader

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do-you-ship-it-polls · 8 months ago

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About the blog:

This is created just for fun to poll people on their opinions on ships, because shipping culture is something that I find fun. I’m sure this has been done before but I haven't seen any active blogs doing it, except for tournaments. Please stay civil and block the people that make you angry. (Or just ignore them.)

I also run the blog @do-you-know-this-baby and @aretheyqueer

I’m mainly going to be focusing on anime or cartoon ships, but you can submit any show/movie/book/game etc.

Pedophilia and incest is not allowed, but am otherwise lenient with it. I don’t consider myself a proshipper, and will sometimes deny ships that aren't technically illegal. If I accidentally post something awful then you can let me know.

I'm not posting Harry Potter, Hazbin hotel or Helluva boss characters. Also no mcyt aside from roleplay/story-telling where they have different names. Why these are banned is in the last tab of this spreadsheet.

This blog is lgbt+ friendly, of course.

Feel free to send me an ask if you’d like to ask questions or have a suggestion, or something else to say.

Other similar blogs (none are affiliated with me):

@do-you-ship-this-comic-ship

@do-you-ship-this-book-couple

@worlds-worst-ships

@are-they-queerplatonic

@shouldtheydivorce

@proshipping-polls

@rpfshippingpolls

Submission rules:

Submissions can be sent through the form below, or through an ask to this account!

No real people

One ship per form, but you can send in multiple forms at a time.

There are currently a lot of submissions so it'll take a while to get through all of them, but your submission could show up at any time since I don't really go in order as much as I should. I'm currently posting 3 times a day.

I also sometimes miss duplicate submissions so if your text isn't included, I apologize!

Here is a spreadsheet with all published ships and their votes, if you prefer it over the blog search feature, or want to check something easily. It also includes denied ships.

Fandom jail

Fandom jail is for fandoms who bother me too much but don't deserve to be banned forever. This means polls featuring these characters will be put on hold. The fandoms currently in jail are:

None!

Tags used:

#anime ; #cartoons ; #movies ; #tv shows ; #books etc

#not a poll ; #not a ship

#asks

#fanart friday (feel free to send me fanart you want to be featured)

#crackship poll and #april fools for joke polls

#tournament poll

#polls #shipping #ships #fandom #anime #fandom polls

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shankss-magnificent-ass · 1 year ago

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Imagine making the red haired pirates laugh during serious moments

Warning slight spoilers

The crew is in the town jail

Benn: *drunk as shit and annoyed he's too drunk to fight* We need to get out of here or the navy is going to be up our asses by morning light. Gods it was such a mistake letting you talk us into bar hopping this close to Mary Geoise. We need to figure out how to get out of here, think you idiots.

Shanks: *Snores loudly*

Benn: *kicks him awake* think of a way to get us out of here like your life depends on it.

You: Yeah, wouldn't want the world government to get a hold of you boss, they'll stick one of those stupid bubbles they wear on you.

Shanks: Those old men are always lenient with me like I'm their loser grandson.

You: probably because you are their loser grandson, or at least one of theirs, and they feel too guilty to really punish you because ultimately it's their fault that you became a pirate in the first place.

Benn: You give them too much credit, they're not capable of that much empathy, and also less talkie, more thinkie.

A few minutes later

You: *trying to make small talk to pass the time* So are you just a Benn? Or are you a Benedict, Benjamin?.... A Bennathan?

Shanks: *slumped next to Benn, starts cackling*

Benn: *snorts* Bennanathan? No, just a Benn. Also, this is very serious, we might get caught by the world government tonight.

Shanks: *slurring* it's fine, I just need to sober up a little, so give me a few minutes, and I'll bust us out once I am no longer able to feel the planet spinning.

You: sure, it's the planet that's the only thing spinning. Our Boss is too strong to fall victim to a bit'a hooch, but I can't say the same for his liver.

Hongo: *snorts* I'll make arrangements to get him a new one just in case.

A week later

Shanks: *yelling* But we need an escape pod for the ship, it'd be very useful to have!

Howling Gab: *the quarter master in charge of the ship's budget and also yelling* no, you have legs and one good arm, just swim, most of our enemies are devil fruit users anyway!

Benn: *secretly wants one too* it would be pretty cool.

Howling Gab: *Bellows* (y/n) come get your boys, they want a ludicrous escape pod!

You: *Missing all their social ques, as you come out of the office* Oh, that sounds hella rad!

Howling Gab: *gives you the disapproving dad look and growling low in his chest*

You: I mean, why would we need that? Especially when both of you are such excellent swimmers, and you both look hot when you're soaked.

The crew: *nods in agreement*

Shank: All very true, but please try seeing it from my perspective~

You: *opens the broom closet next to you, pulls out a stepladder and gets on, so you can look him in the eyes*

Hongo: *keels over laughing*

Benn: *coughing because he's laughing so hard and needs to stop smoking*

Shanks: *Wants to be mad, but can't*

You: We don't need an escape pod, okay?

Shanks: ... fine.

You: *takes another step up the ladder, so you're at eye level with Benn* agreed?

Benn:.... Agreed

You: Good, now let's go get wasted.

Shanks: It's probably a good thing we don't get an escape pod, I'd end up driving drunk.

You: we know darling, we know, there's a reason why we don't let you near the stern when you've had a few. You always try to drink and sail.

Coming Soon (5/13)

#one piece #one piece x reader #one piece imagine #akagami no shanks #red hair pirates #red hair shanks x reader #red haired shanks x reader #red haired shanks #shanks x reader #red hair shanks #shanks #benn beckman #from the depths of the dragon's hoard #tma original #5/13/23 #no beta we die like men

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ratatouillewastakendammit · 2 years ago

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