#I needed that view from far effect

[gomzdrawfr]

[content warning:MCD, afterlife]

Back in your arms

[wild-at-mind]

Not to talk about MRA-lite spaces again but I'm going to need everyone to understand that in these spaces, the subtext of 'men don't get to talk about their problems' is ALWAYS 'and it is women's fault!'

[paragonrobits]

some important calvin and hobbes facts in case you haven't read the original comic strip in a long time or only absorbed stuff on it from memes and out of context bits on here:

Calvin's last name has never been given, and neither has any of his parent's names. This was actually why his uncle Max only showed up for a brief storyline; the creator of the comic, Bill Watterson, ultimately felt that while it was fine to have him as someone for his parents to talk to, it felt far too awkward to never have Max refer to them by name and he never made a return appearance.

The general tone of the comic is fairly light-hearted, with a big emphasis on goofy slapstick comedy contrasted by clever wordplay and often surprising adult-centered jokes that'll hit you like a slap. A big part of the comedy is, as Watterson put it (paraphrased) "It's really funny to me when people express deeply stupid ideas with really fancy terminology." One notable example you might have seen is that one bit where Calvin asks his mom for money to buy a Satan-worshiping rock album and his mom replies that there's nothing genuine about them and they're just putting on the attitude for shock value, and comisserates with Calvin as he deplores that mainstream nihilism can't be trusted. He concludes that childhood is disillusioning.

There is a LOT of criticism of the extreme materialism and selfish mentality of the late 80s, when the comic was initially written. This may go a long way to explain how its aged so well; much of what it criticizes resonates well with people today.

Bill Watterson views comic strips a legitimate form of artwork, and repeatedly fought to have more space to draw more beautiful and artistic backgrounds, which was a very hard fight and unpopular even with other comic strip artists. He eventually did win some compromises and a lot of Calvin And Hobbes' artwork shows it, with the use of space to indicate time as well as a sharp contrast between the often plain environments of mundane life contrasted by the wildly beautiful imagery of Calvin's imagination (which often sports realistic depictions in an art shift of sorts).

Hobbes is explicitly not an imaginary friend, by word of Watterson himself. We don't know WHAT he is exactly, and Hobbes is apparently unaware of the strange nature of his reality; people look at him and only see an ordinary stuffed tiger plushie, but he has a tangible effect on the world that would be physically impossible for Calvin to do on his own. He's apparently been around for a while, and was apparently around when Calvin was a young baby.

On that note; Hobbes has implicitly killed (notably treated as both a gag and also with the vibe of 'he's a tiger, duh') and while he doesn't do it again on-screen, he doesn't have any moral issues about it. Calvin claims that he's never had trouble bringing Hobbes to school because the last time he did, Hobbes killed and ate a bully named Tommy Chestnut and simply comments that it was gross and he needed a bath. Calvin's tried to repeat this again, but Hobbes was grossed out at the thought having to eat a kid raw and not being allowed to use an oven first, or complaining that children are too fattening.

Hobbes became gradually less human-like in body language and more like an actual cat in both body language and behavior; this was due to Watterson drawing more inspiration from his cat, who also inspired a lot of Hobbes' running gags, such as pouncing on Calvin when he got home. Several years into the syndication of the strip, Watterson's cat passed away, and he did a tribute to her with a comic strip of the two of them agreeing to try to dream together so they can keep playing when they have to sleep; Watterson's commentary (if I recall right), remarks on his cat: "We can see each other again in dreams."

[zephyrchama]

A thin line of table salt adorned the floor in front of your bedroom. You stood behind it and stared at the demons outside of your doorway. They were staring at the salt.

Leviathan laughed. It reminded him of a low-level defense from a tower defense game. "Is that supposed to keep us out? lol."

"Yeah. I think it's working," you said.

Satan put a hand on his hip. As far as he could tell, it was plain old table salt. No magical properties whatsoever. "How so?"

"Well, none of you are crossing it. Clearly, it's having some kind of effect."

Mammon balked. "Obviously, it's because we're respectin' your privacy!" He stood closest to the line, wanting to cross it most of all.

"You're respecting my privacy by... standing right outside my door?"

Mammon opened his mouth to counter, only to come up with nothing. He stood there with his fists clenched. The feather on his belt swayed as he tapped a foot impatiently, causing the nearest salt to shift a little.

The noise annoyed Asmodeus. "Mammon, go walk through the salt."

"Why me!?"

"This is ridiculous." Lucifer crossed his arms. "Clean this up. I don't even want to know how this will damage the floors if you leave it."

"It's not even doing anything," Satan pointed out.

"If it's not doing anything, then one of you should cross it," you suggested.

"Why don't you come out to us?" Belphegor proposed. "There's only one of you, seems more fair."

"Yeah!" Asmodeus took a step away from the salt, careful not to get any on his shoes, and raised his hands. "You can run into my arms if you'd like. I'll be sure to catch you."

Their stubbornness astounded you. "Or... You guys can just admit you don't want to cross this salt."

"It's regular salt." Beelzebub knew exactly what the substance was as soon as he laid eyes on it. Plus, the smell was unmistakable. His claim was irrefutable.

"Yes, exactly. Thank you, Beel. I've seen you eat it many times." You had even taken the bag from the shared kitchen.

"Did you try walking over it?" Leviathan asked. "How are we supposed to cross it if you won't?"

"I don't need to. I'm in my room."

"You should come to our room," Belphegor offered. He was getting tired of standing around.

"Come out this instant," Lucifer ordered.

You thought about it for a whopping two seconds. "I think I'm good. I'll be in my room. If any of you need me, feel free to come in."

You retreated back inside with the rest of the half-empty salt bag. The brothers stared at you with a mix of impatience and disbelief until the wall blocked you from view.

[bluebeads-art]

2025 June 25th

Kris glancing back at you when you make them kill 8-bit Susie and Ralsei messed me up, dude. That's gotta be terrifying, not knowing the player's intentions. Like, they only killed them because this is just a game, right? ...right...?

Rambling and behind-the-scenes stuff under the cut

—

Especially terrifying if Kris has the meta-knowledge that they're in a game. Because if so, the previous cope doesn't work.

Originally, I planned to recreate a screenshot of the 8-bit game only so I could paint over it. However, I was going to slap the image into Blender 3D to warp it with a fisheye lens anyways, so I had the idea of making a CRT shader. Turns out I have shader skill issues and wasn't sure where to start! So I copied the homework of u/CalculatedBinary on Reddit. (Link in replies because I'm still paranoid of the days where external URLs blocked posts from showing up in tags / searches. Filter by oldest first if you don't see it right away.)

I did make some changes, though. CalculatedBinary's shader just makes a ray tube overlay that doesn't react to the texture underneath. But I had the idea to split the RGB channels of both the CRT overlay and image texture, darken each color of ray tube by the image texture's corresponding RGB value, then recombine all 3 channels. Might be easier just to show it.

Note that the "CRT shader" input is JUST the CRT overlay. This node group slots into the stage where you mix it with the image texture. Speaking of, unless you're working with a high pixel resolution or are viewing it from far away, you'll need to blend this result with your image texture again afterwards, because uhh...! The effect's real strong, captain!

There's cheater sub-pixels in there to mimic chromatic aberration, but otherwise this is an authentic representation of how CRT screens work! I made some other tweaks to the shader to get the CRT pixels to line up with the image texture pixels more precisely, but I won't get into that unless someone asks because it's nitty-gritty perfectionism stuff.

To circle back to an earlier point, this CRT shader sorta depends on well-defined pixels, so no paint-over for me. Given how long it took me to recreate a screenshot by hand based on nothing but blurry, compressed YouTube videos, I'm considering it fair usage, LMAO. Not like I'm making money off of this.

I love using Blender to solve my problems. Don't know how in the goddamn fisheye lenses work? Blender. Want to make or borrow image filters? Blender. Want that filter to follow the image's perspective? Yep, Blender.

I have minor beef with some of the anatomy and shading, but this piece was taking too long, it's Time to Stop. 😂 I friggin' cooked on the line art and their hair though, heck yea. A shame the dark shadows ate some of it.

Time taken was 33 hours and 38 minutes (at minimum. Forgot to time some of my Blender side-quests.)

—

July 11th edit: *teleports in like Rouxls Kaard* So CRTs actually don'th worke like that. There's a reblog chain [here] where I ramble even more about stuff I got wrong, I'll update the link when/if it continues.

The TL;DR: 1) I already knew but didn't mention the lack of CRT "pixel" grid staggering because it looked bad in the WIP, so the perfect grid actually looks more like an LCD screen. 2) I totally forgot that the low pixel resolution is a limitation of the game, not the screen. So there should be way more screen sub-pixels per pixel art pixel. 3) I used lots of incorrect terminology in the above description because I didn't know how CRTs worked on a mechanical level. Learn something new every day! 4) Blender renders are Real Quirky and an even more authentic render wouldn't have worked out either way.

[gleamingseok]

Breaking point

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader (Shared Apartment)

Tropes: Slow Burn, Sexual Tension, Accidental Discovery, Teasing, Filthy Smut

Warnings: Explicit sexual content (18+), nipple play, orgasm denial, mutual teasing, smut, dirty talk, overstimulation

It all happened by accident.

Jungkook had always been playful, sometimes he would grab your waist as he walked by,squeeze your thigh just to make you jump or press into your back when he reached for something overhead. It was like second nature, something both of you got used to it, part of living together and the side effect of too much time spent teasing, touching. But this accident changed everything.

It was late, both of you lying on the couch, a movie playing. You were in nothing but a loose tank top and shorts, comfortable in your shared apartment. Jungkook who was beside you was lazy with sleep, arm draped across the back of the couch, fingers occasionally brushing your shoulder, your collarbone and sometimes your arm.

You really should have known better than to let your guard down. Because the moment he reached for the popcorn bowl on your lap, his knuckles grazed your chest and you whimpered.

The sound was small like barely noticeable, but Jungkook froze. His hand lingered heavy against the side of your breast, and when his fingers flexed just slightly testing, you sucked in a breath, thighs pressing together involuntarily.

Jungkook’s gaze snapped to yours and fuck you knew that look. Dark eyes, parted lips, something dangerous flickering beneath the surface.

“…Sensitive?” His voice was low teasing, but his hand didn’t move. You should laughed it off or swatted his hand away. But your body betrayed you.

Your breath came out shaky, your fingers gripping the blanket on your lap, the heat between your legs already unbearable. He then noticed and smirked.

That’s when you knew you were fucked.

At first, it was just an experiment but the he slowly started testing you even more..

He began brushing against you more often accidentally and of course purposefully. Pressing his arm against your chest when he reached for something, bumping into you when passing by, resting his head on your lap, face far too close to your torso. You tried to ignore it like really tried but then came the teasing.

Like when you stretched one morning, your shirt lifting slightly and Jungkook’s eyes flickered down, lips curling "Careful" he murmured, "Wouldn’t want me to get ideas"

Or the time you changed in front of him without thinking, your back turned, only to hear the sharp inhale when you pulled your shirt over your head, you turned, brows raised "Problem?" Jungkook grinned "Not at all, just enjoying the view"

And then there was the real test.

It happened in the kitchen. You were making tea when Jungkook appeared behind you, warm breath ghosting over your shoulder. His hands landed on your waist, fingers squeezing just enough to make you lean into him. "Morning" he murmured.

You exhaled "Morning"

Jungkook leaned closer, chest pressing against your back. His hand slid up, up…and before you could stop him, his fingers brushed over your nipple through your thin tank top.

The reaction was instant.

Your breath hitched, a soft embarrassingly needy sound slipping from your lips. Jungkook groaned, deep and low, his hand pausing.

"Fuck" he muttered voice wrecked "You really are sensitive" Your cheeks burned "Jungkook-" But he wasn’t listening. His fingers rubbed again, feeling the way your body arched into his touch. "You’ve been hiding this from me all this time?" he murmured, grinning against your neck. You whimpered and he laughed, dark and amused "God, I could make you cum just from this, couldn’t I?" Your thighs clamped together and that was all he needed.

In an instant, you were pressed against the counter, Jungkook’s body pinning you in place, his hands sliding under your shirt, thumbs rolling over your hardened nipples.

The sensation was devastating. You gasped, hands flying to grip his wrists, but you didn’t pull away. "You like that?" he breathed, grinding against you from behind. "So fucking responsive, baby”

Your head fell against his shoulder, lips parting around another moan. Jungkook growled, "Shit" he muttered, rutting against you, his cock already painfully hard. "You sound so fucking good"

You whined, hips bucking into nothing. "Jungkook" you gasped, breathless.

He stiffened "You really want me to stop?" His voice was strained, barely holding on, you swallowed hard. "No"

Jungkook cursed and then he lost it. He spun you around, lifting you onto the counter, spreading your thighs as he stepped between them.

His mouth latched onto your nipple, sucking, tongue flicking, hands gripping your waist, holding you still. The pleasure was immediate, unbearable. You cried out, nails digging into his shoulders, grinding against his clothed cock. Jungkook groaned into your skin, hands roaming, grabbing.

"Look at you" he muttered, switching to the other breast, sucking a dark bruise onto the soft skin "So fucking needy"

You couldn’t speak, couldn’t think not when his tongue was teasing, rolling, flicking in perfect circles "Jungkook-fuck-"

His fingers dipped into your shorts, sliding over your soaked core, "Shit" he hissed, "You’re dripping"

You whimpered "Need you" you gasped, desperate, ruined.

Jungkook groaned, rutting against your heat, "Not yet" he muttered, voice wrecked. "I wanna hear you beg"

Your thighs clenched, "Please, Jungkook-"

He smirked, dragging his fingers up to your nipple again, pinching lightly. "You want my cock that bad?" Your eyes rolled back, body trembling. "Yes" you sobbed. "Please-"

Jungkook exhaled sharply and then he gave in.

With one swift motion, he shoved your shorts aside, freed his cock, and slid into you, deep, perfect, overwhelming. You moaned loudly, head falling back. Jungkook grunted, his forehead pressing to yours "Fuck, baby" he panted, thrusting slow, teasing "This is what you wanted, huh?"

You whimpered, nodding. Jungkook chuckled darkly "Then hold on" he murmured, and then he gripped your thighs, holding you open, vulnerable, completely his.

His cock filled you so perfectly, so deeply, stretching your walls with every slow, deliberate thrust. The heat between you was unbearable, your body trembling, chest heaving from the intensity of it all.

" Fuck your shaking," he muttered, voice thick. His hands slid up your sides, thumbs grazing the curve of your breasts, fingertips teasing over your already sensitive, swollen nipples. Your breath hitched violently. He felt it, the way your body clenched instinctively around him, how your legs tightened around his waist, your nails digging into his arms.

"Oh you like that" Jungkook groaned, voice taunting, knowing. His fingers rolled your nipples between them, tugging and teasing "Makes your little pussy so fucking tight"

You whimpered pathetically, head dropping forward, body overwhelmed. "You’re gonna make me cum too fast" he muttered, gritting his teeth. And then he twisted your nipples just right, and you snapped.

A choked moan left your lips, back arching violently, body clenching down around him, your orgasm crashing through you in intense, overwhelming waves.

Jungkook groaned, deep and wrecked, his rhythm stuttering, hips slamming into you harder, rougher, desperate for release.

"That’s it" he gritted out, watching you come undone beneath him. "So fucking pretty when you fall apart for me"

You were still shaking, body sensitive, overstimulated, but he wasn’t done.

His thrusts turned sharp, deeper, his cock grinding against that perfect spot inside you, sending aftershocks of pleasure surging through you.

"Jungkook" you gasped, nails raking down his back.

He growled at the sound of his name falling from your lips like a prayer, at the way your body pulsed so perfectly around him."Fuck" he muttered, gripping your thighs tighter. "Gonna fill you up, baby. You want that?"

Your head nodded frantically, legs locking around him, pulling him deeper "Please," you whispered, voice wrecked, desperate.

And that was all he needed. With a sharp curse, Jungkook thrust one last time, burying himself spilling deep inside you, his body shuddering violently as he came, his breath hot, uneven, wrecked against your skin. For a long moment, neither of you moved. Jungkook stayed inside you, chest rising and falling against yours, lips brushing your shoulder, hands still gripping your waist like he wasn’t ready to let go.

Then finally he exhaled, soft, shaky, satisfied. "Fuck" he whispered, pressing a lazy kiss to your neck. You hummed in agreement, your fingers trailing slowly up his back. His lips curled against your skin.

"You’re gonna let me do that again, right?"

You laughed breathlessly, tilting your head to kiss him. "Only if you stop teasing me first"

Jungkook smirked "Not a chance”

[weirdmageddon]

i was thinking about this since i posted earlier about us needing to address the trend of gen z men being pulled into alt-right pipelines might have contributed to the outcome of this election.

i think contrapoints is really smart, and from what i’ve seen, has been way more effective at getting people out of harmful ideological pipelines than i’ve seen from the majority of leftists online who instead berate and drive a greater wedge of antipathy (though i understand why! and it can be very hard to have empathy for the people who see you as a threat). that antipathy makes the right more radicalized because they don’t feel like they can talk about anything without the “crazy lefties” who won’t even engage with them. where did these issues come from?

what i’ve noticed, and i’m even guilty of this, is that people don’t interact with groups of people whom they refuse talk to, which makes realities more hypothetical in the minds of their opponent since they aren’t open to seeing reality from their perspective. this is true on both sides. from what i’ve observed, it seems to originate from hypothetical perception of the opponent, but when people treat those perceptions as though they are real, it becomes real with their actions, which then makes the antipathy justified to someone. again, on both sides.

what makes contrapoints so successful at breaking this down is that is that she creates these socratic dialogue skits that represent real people and ideologies, has a sense of humor, isn’t afraid to discuss these things, reframes how we see these things by introducing nuance to both sides. she’s a leftist, but she also knows how to engage without ripening division, of meeting someone halfway and being completely humble about it. she is able to soften extremes.

she is able to get into the mind of people who aren’t aligned with her views, understand the nuance and rationales from a realistic perspective, breaking down a big block of “this is all bad” into “ok, some of this makes sense…”, what this does is create a space for self-reflection that doesn’t feel ham-fisted (which could otherwise cause people to double down on their beliefs instead of opening up to other perspectives outside of their bubble). while also being entertaining and well-produced on top of it.

what she is doing is creating these scenarios and socratic discussions that SHOULD be happening in real life but aren’t in this polarized social climate.

i graduated from new college of florida this spring, the small liberal arts college that was in headlines across the country for ron desantis’s board of trustees hostile takeover and exodus of professors.

new students and student athletes from conservative walks of life were being basically incentivized to go there who were taught to fear the lgbt boogeyman growing up in their conservative communities. but once they actually interacted with lgbt students there, many of them they felt like they understood them, and they weren’t as bad as they were told they would be. new college of florida was also famous for getting derek black (child of the man who created stormfront, and godchild of the kkk grand wizard david duke) out of white nationalism. their peers at NCF called them out but also interacted with them, invited them to dinner. black wrote a book about it.

now of course some people are too far gone and you shouldn’t waste your time with them, like derek’s family for example. but i also think a lot of people who voted for trump are not informed, are operating off of emotion and knee-jerk mentality because it’s easier than thinking, and they are not seeing the discussions that need to be had to change their mind because fuckin…nobody is doing them.

and we feel this visceral disgust to people of the opposing party because of its associations. i just want to know how it happened and how we got to be like this. i think social media is partly to blame and also the algorithms that take people down dangerous pipelines and sharpen them, insulate them.

i myself understand the vitriol you might have for anyone that voted for trump. i feel so disappointed that half the people of this country voted against our collective benefit. and i’ve seen a lot of sentiment from the left today saying “every single person who voted for trump is dead to me. i disowned you”.

you can see the reality of trump’s demagoguery, and it’s so obvious, but what i want to know is: what do they see? why did they vote for him? emotion and entertainment travel faster and have more reach than reason. and it’s that’s why i think contrapoints’s videos are exemplary at tackling this ideological divide. this is something i’ve been thinking about for months before today and i thought now was a better time than ever to give my two cents on it.

[mailedlove]

DEVOTION. pt. 3

pairing: submissive yandere (your insert) × harsh and manipulative reader

content: mentions of light bondage, name calling (ma’am), praising, degradation and humiliation, manipulation, cockstepping, begging, foot humping—fucking, cum licking, usage of toys (vibrator and silicon toy), simple aftercare.

note: PART 1. PART 2. these are the previous parts of this short series! if you want to have a better reading experience, please read them first before proceeding with this one. ps: i will be making a 4th one since i think i made this one too long and felt the need to cut it. TT :: requested by anon!

hearts, comments and reblogs are all appreciated.

the moon was bright, gleaming as you were walking back to your sweet home. you were out in the park, left hand holding the remaining medium-sized pack of cat food while the other has a big bottle of water and cup. feeding strays was your favorite hobby to do but you felt exhausted tonight, so you made up a choice to go home a bit earlier. the route that leads to your village was just a walking distance but you were tired, far too tired that you just made up a decision to just take a cab.

entering your home, you could already feel the sleepiness take over but you remembered a task you still have to do, and that was you needed to check on something. you placed all of your stuff in your living room, washed your hands, and made sure all the doors were locked before proceeding to accomplish what you had to do.

you could already hear the noises coming from your hallway as you walked towards it, eyes focused on the gloomy passage. as you reached the door leading to your basement, you twisted the doorknob, pushing the door gently before seeing the full view of what was in front of you. you entered the said room with a sinister smile that slowly creeped up your face. it was he, the boy you had captured and taken into your home. the boy who had been pestering you mentally. the tiredness left your body as soon as you got to see him better.

it was truly a beautiful sight to see. he was naked, sitting on the floor, chained so that his movements were restricted. his eyes were covered and so was his mouth, the soft fabrics now smeared with tear and saliva marks that’s most probably caused from his pathetic scream and cries.

you walked closer to his figure and knelt down to properly meet his level. after putting yourself in a comfortable position, you then took off his blindfold and mouth cover before breaking the silence, “what a pathetic, little boy you are. you’ve been crying so much, haven’t you? look at those big, sad eyes— oh, and those hickey covered neck— you look like a beat up puppy, ain’t ya, baby?” you said, hand slowly creeping up to touch his neck, and the other to cup his face. he whimpers at the sudden contact, eyes jittering as they tried to make contact with yours.

“l-look..” he said, “i’m sorry for being a pathetic weirdo t-that did nothing but, b—but stalk you, do fucked up things about you and more weird stuff. i p—promise i was only gonna drop those items and go awa—” he suddenly stopped, eyes going wide as he let out a loud scream. you had gotten up step on his cock, so suddenly that he screamed like a little girl.

“now, will that make you shut up?” a scoff left your mouth, lowering yourself down once again. “you know, i was so disappointed that you’d rather spy on me than be a big boy and face me. remember when i said that i expected more from you? you probably don’t cause i knocked you out but, yeah. my mind still hasn’t changed about that.” you added, thumb grazing his cheek with a disappointed look in your eyes. the words that left your mouth made his stomach drop. h—he disappointed you? he wants to be anything but a disappointment to you! you shouldn’t have said that to him— he’ll prove you that he is worthy, that he is good and not a piece of trash.

to fully add more to the effect, you removed your hand that was touching his face and that fuelled more of his desires to be better for you. with hands trembling, he weakly grabs your hand again and placed it back on his face, hands now holding both the back of your palm and your arm. the boy stared at you with pitiful eyes then spoke, “but i’m not bad, r—right? all i did was to protect you, and to keep you safe. please take it back, i’ll prove to you that i’m good ! i’ll do anythin’ you want. i’m sorry, p-please, anything..” he begs with tears in his eyes, mouth stuttering as he tries to properly tell you how he’s sorry, how he’ll be good and do anything, and everything that you want, just so you’ll take back what you said.

“oh you wanna prove to me that you’re a good boy? that you’re my good boy? then that means you’ll do anything i want, ain’t that right?” you bombed him with questions, emphasizing the part where you said my as his eyes sparkled at the thought— your good boy? yes! he’ll do anything of course, it’s you who he’s breathing and serving for, anyway. he’s only living because you also exist. “yes, yes! anything you want me t’do, i’ll do ‘em.” he blurts out, fixing his position to prepare himself on what he has to do. “atta, boy, you said it yourself. you wanna do anything i tell you, right? fuck my foot then, prove yourself to me.” you said blankly as you got up. he was stunned— are you joking or were you serious? he instantly got the answer just by looking at your face, and that is you were actually for real. “what’re you waiting for? get started already.”

“yes, ma’am..” he stutters out. you then loosened the chains that were restricting him, so that he could move a little better. the said boy slowly grabbed the lower part of your leg, positioning himself to your foot. a silent moan left his lips as he started to grind his cock against it, the base of his erection rubbing on the bridge of your foot. the friction he was getting from progressively fucking your foot made him feel lightheaded, thoughts running in his mind about how dumb he probably looks. still, he couldn’t believe he’s actually getting contact with your body, even if it made him look filthy below you. it was fine as long as it’s for you. “hahh— feels good..” he pants, slowly loosing himself, grinding a lot faster in order to get more friction. minutes passed by and everything was drowned out, all except the noises the chains were making because of his rocking movements.

“m’ sorry, so s—sorryy for being a d-dumb lil’ boy, please forgive me—” he’s still moving, but now quicker and more animalistic. random apologies left his mouth, whining out about how he’s sorry for being a disgrace to you, how he is sorry for letting you down. his nonsense went on for a long period, and so was his actions, all while blabbing and degrading himself about how pathetic he is.

“n-need, i need to— hic! i think i’m g—gonna— ah! wai—” his feverish noises and blabbers were finally cut off as he rides off his high, crying with his mouth agape as his cum spurts out his pinky tip. his sticky semen covered your foot, most of it actually. it really was a whole lot of liquid, as if he hasn’t had a proper release for decades. “i only said to hump my foot— not cum on it! bad dog! go clean it up before i get mad.” you shouted at the poor boy attached to your leg.

“i—i’m sorry for not asking for permission to cum..” he apologizes to you. you were literally far from mad, in fact, you were actually getting wet inside your panties just by seeing how well he was obeying you. he really was the perfect pet, just need a little more training, that’s all. “okay, i will clean i-it.” he says, getting off of your foot and bending down to meet it. after bending down to meet its’ level, he then starts to lick his cum off of it. the feeling of his tongue making contact with your foot made a hot feeling enter your stomach. for you, it was so entertaining to see your pet serve below you, all because of one simple command. for him, he didn’t mind the actions that he was doing because it was all to earn your apology, though it was disgusting to taste his own release. once he was done, he stopped and looked up at you, waiting for your next command.

“very well, then. wait for me, i have a surprise for you.” you spoke with an unnoticeable smirk on your lips. he nodded, waiting patiently as you walked out of the door and closed it. you slowly made your way towards your room to grab a vibrator and dildo that you’ve been waiting to use on someone, and lucky for him, he was the chosen one. after getting the toy, you went back quickly towards the hallway, then the basement. “i’m back, good thing you didn’t escape or else i would’ve duck taped you to the headboard of my bed.” you said, laughing slightly at your own words as if he can actually move enough to get up. though for him, it wasn’t a joke since he’d gladly comply with that. “now where was i? oh— i forgot to tell you, close your eyes first before i reveal my surprise.”

“okay, ma’am.” the agreement left his mouth as he closed his eyes, making sure to firmly shut them off. you slowly put upfront the items that were behind your back before poking him to open his eyes. his reaction was priceless as he saw what was infront of him. “surprise! do you like it? i’ve been waiting to use these on someone, and you’re just the perfect one. what are we waiting for? let’s start, shall we?” you slowly lifted your index finger, signaling him to arch his lower body upward, so that you can place the dildo on the floor below him. after placing the silicon toy, you guided him to sit back so that it can enter his hole, all with no preparation. good thing he was already stretched out from all the numerous times he was fucking himself, lonely whilst thinking about your body. a loud moan slipped out his lips as he finally sunk down all the way, taking all parts of the toy. you were about to order him to start moving but he was far too horny, so he wasted no time to bounced on it, not waiting for your signal.

“this guy is a fucking slut..” you couldn’t help but mumble to yourself as you stared at the weirdo.

“ah! ah! i-i feel s’goodd— thank you! than’ you! a-and s-shorrry for— for not w-waiting.. hah! ” he babbles out to you, bouncing erratically on the toy that was penetrating the insides of his ass. “m-mhm! w—wha—” he stammers as he was caught off guard when you suddenly placed the vibrator on the tip of his dick. your spontaneous move made him start to fucking scream-whine. his body was squirming, hands rapidly trying to find something that he could hold onto for support, as the pleasure was getting too much for him. his pink tip started to seep out tiny amounts of white liquid as the toy vibrated. but you didn’t stop, instead, you put the toy on the highest setting. you also guided him to hop harder like a bunny and held both his fists out to even look more like the animal. by this time, he was already gone, mind too blank that all that left his mouth was noises of thank you’s! so full’s! g-good’s! and many more, just from pure pleasure. it took him 2 times to cum till he finally passed out from tiredness.

in the end, he was knocked out with his body weirdly positioned on the floor. you cooed at his sleeping figure before scooting closer to him and carrying him up so you could bring him to your room. you cleansed him slightly with the use of a damp towel, and other objects that could clean him without the use of a proper shower, since he wouldn’t wake up even after being shaken for minutes. you finally tucked him in so he could sleep, so he could also mentally prepare himself for what was to come the next day, and every single day from now on. in your mind, this is only the beginning of his journey into becoming, and being shaped to an obedient dog.

[sugudoe]

☕️⌇ ◜ OFFICE HOURS ◞ ⠀⠀⠀

╰⠀boss!nanami x secretary!reader where . . . nanami kento can’t let people know the reality that he, under no circumstances, belongs to them. in fact, is quite the contrarie. everyone in this job is a puppet willingly letting him pull the strings. you more than anyone. after committing the bizarre mistake of telling nanami your true intentions with him, your boss is more than eager to comply your desires and just maybe, forget he first input of no belongings.

cw. too much swearing, fingering with others present (not caught), fem!reader, reader keeps daydreaming w. nanami, slightly age gap but non-important all legal, public sex, overstimulation, they both keep failing to hide, possessiveness, love bites, he slap her thigh once, bit of blood because of self lip biting 4.9k words, english is not my first language.

an. hi, hello, i want everyone to know i’m this man wife. this is, in fact, our love story, i used to serve his coffee, now i’m serving my puss— anyways, enjoy it. FYI nanami smells like either tom ford tobacco vanille or byredo bibliothèque.

There are certain events in the workplace ── a sequence, if you may ── that serves as a warning to everyone that Mr. Nanami Kento has arrived.

Not many months ago, you were clueless to the symphony of presentation he had, even before stepping into the room. Now, though, it’s engraved in your mind. Much like he is. It is, also, a dirty secret to have that you eagerly wait for it, everyday.

Halting the tack-tack of your fingers on the keyboard, your ears pick the first signal ── rushed footsteps. All opening space so he can pass without the need to raise his eyes, hidden by sunglasses, from his cellphone. The second is the whispers and swooning. Some, more brave than others, compliment him out loud. Always about his peculiar ties, and always he smiles back. Lastly, when Nanami is in your sight of view, he is accompanied by his signature scent that greets you before he even does.

The most raw way to describe his smell is by saying that you wish you could crack him open, and lay inside of him forever. It’s comfortable and addicting and it makes you want to kiss him until it can permanently fixates on you.

In more proper synonyms, Nanami Kento smells like caramel, wood and a bit smokey. He is hot to the touch, one can admit. You don’t fall far from these thoughts, but sometimes, when you are not eye-fucking your boss, you think he smells like a cozy cabin in the woods.

Perfect place to fuck him, though.

Is easy to imagine such a thing. You can picture him with thick sweat covering his body, like a second layer, as he comes inside with a hatchet and wood for the fireplace. And you can, also easily, imagine yourself on your knees sucking him so good, as way to thank him for keeping you warm.

It’s a Kento effect. Everywhere he passes, people tend to have a heat stroke. You are no better than the others. Probably worse. He, however, does not need to know that. Nanami’s plate is already filled to the brims with people gazing him as a snack, he doesn’t need his personal assistant to do the same.

Not in front of him, anyways.

So, when he comes near your table, and stop to take whatever you have for him (work related, honey, even when you wish it was your pussy), you present the calls he need to answer with a compliment for his shoes and a black coffee with pretzels.

He adores you.

You want to fuck him senseless.

A perfect imperfect balance of clashing feelings. His are professional, yours are not even close. He only steps over the boundaries when it’s to call you “Darling” and you only do so in your head, when you think of laying on his table and letting him feast on your dripping cunt.

He is gentle and caring.

You wouldn’t mind chanting his name loud enough for everyone to understand what’s happening.

He departs ways and you share a trembling sigh with your inner turmoil of emotions. He makes you have a constant fever. In fact, with him, everything is constant. You want to fuck him everyday, you touch yourself with his voice in your mind guiding you. He gets pretty out of character in your alone mind, though.

Real Nanami is a sweetheart. Your Nanami would make you cry while on his cock.

“── and the meeting room needs to be ready by eleven, you can do all that, darling?” He asks. He asks! He is talking with you.

“I, uh, I’m sorry, Mr. Kento,” You stutter before shifting your attention from your computer screen to his charming understandable smile. “could you repeat, please?”

“Sure, darling.”

You need to put extra neurons to work when eyeing his pink lips moving gracefully. Is it the same shade as his cock? Oh, you hoped so. That would be your favorite color, would paint your nails, your hair, anything.

“Got it now?” Nanami curls his lips as he question you. You can’t lie to him, so you sign that No, you did not payed attention. He chuckles and comes closer, resting both hands in fist on your table, letting himself down so he can be face to face with you. “I need you to order mine, yours and the lunch for the usual gentleman I talk about the finances, ── you have that noted, right?” You nod, and he proceeds. “Then, I want you to decorate the meeting room, the way you always do.” You nod again, and he moves back. You want to whine. “Good girl.”

Pause.

That’s new. It’s like achieving a new item in a game. A new level. That’s a prize, the greatest form of enlightenment one could have. You feel warm in your chest and cheeks, but dare not to sway your eyes from his twinkling ones. You wonder if he knows what you are thinking, or if he knows the power he has over you ── over everyone.

That’s Nanami Kento. The man with a dazzling aura, it touches all in proximity, no one survives him. If he wants, you are his. Hooked like a worm, willingly ready to be devoured by a fish, and the thing is no one knows if Nanami is said fish or the fisherman.

The secret about his success is not only the sweet talk he does, but the way he can easily take it away. And no one wants to be away from his warmth. You’ve seen it before, how he controls people ── some more powerful than your mind can comprehend, they all are puppets for him to pull the strings. He touches and praises them when they do what he wants, but Nanami grows cold and absent when they don’t.

Everyone wants to be loved by him, so everything this enterprise does, it revolves around Nanami.

He can be a scary man when he wants, and you’ve heard the tales, from time to time. With you, fortunately, he is just your nice boss. And a part of you wish he would cradle you into his arms and play with you like a marionete. His doll. Yeah, you want to be his fucking doll.

Tempted to ruin this lunch and be ravished by his famine, you shake your deranged thoughts and focus on ordering the food. Also asking for red velvet cookies for you and Mr. Gojo, the owner of this whole enterprise.

A cocky young man, that likes to devour your physique whenever you come inside the room. He is rich and beautiful and his name is always on the newspaper with gossip mostly involved. You could fall for him, could fuck him, but he is not Nanami.

He doesn’t boss you around gently, nor he makes you crave his scent on lonely nights. He makes you shy, but not timid and horny. In fact, you don’t even think about Satoru Gojo unless you are balancing his persona with Nanami’s. That’s sad for him.

You keep doing that ── the thoughts, the sexual dreams ── while preparing the meeting room with a charming decoration. Black glasses, black plates, all with golden details. Satoru Gojo himself payed for it, not that he knows or care. You commented once, Nanami liked, and moved his toys in favor of buying the expensive kitchen utensils you wanted. He even made sure to get some for your own house.

The last part is closing the thick black curtains around the room, for privacy. Someone comes inside the second you step back from the last tapestry, and when you turn, Nanami is there.

“How’s everything?” His fingers press on the table, moving swiftly with him, closer to you. “You’ve got cookies?” There is amusement in his question.

“Mr. Gojo’s secretary, Suguru, told me he was craving something sweet.” You turn back to the table behind you, stacking the sweet in a small mountain. “He always gets fussy if he doesn’t get his daily large intake of sugar.”

You grabbed one, knowing that half of it was rightfully yours, and twisted on your heels. Nanami scared you in two sequential situations after that. The first being his looming presence right in front of you, piercing gaze on you, shifting between your eyes. He was searching for something in it, so, you tried the hardest you could to give him something back. Eyes that said “please, fuck me.”

Maybe it worked. The next thing he did, that scared you, was bending down and biting your cookie. Eyes never leaving yours. You gulped, he smirked.

“Please, fuck me.”

He chocked.

See, your eyes were supposed to be the one speaking for you, but Nanami also has this super power that no one can lie to him. He wants something, he gets it delivered in a silver plate. He knows everyone’s secret, and yours were never safe, just happened to be hidden in a line of things that weren’t priority for him. Not until now, at least. He wanted to know what you were hiding, and you gave it to him.

“I ──” The words are struck behind your teeth. Nanami eagerly waits for them. “I’m so sorry.”

And with that, you leave him.

In a perfect world, he would have grabbed you by the wrists and fucked you against Satoru’s side of the table. But it’s not, because he lets you go. He has to let you go, even if you know that’s not the end of it. He will get you later, and like a little kid in science class, he will dissect everything you said. Therefore, during the thirty minutes of freedom you are granted in the bathroom, before the meeting starts, you try and fail and try and fail to conceal your thoughts into a perfect lie.

It doesn’t work. Not even a bit. Because Nanami knows you like the back of his hand, as much as he knows everyone that works with him. He knows when you lie and when you are truthful, and thanks to that, your work relationship had always been good ── you’ve never lied to him to stroke his ego. You were too busy wanting to stroke something else. Nanami let you slide your nasty comments about others, and he would share them, granting you some of their secrets.

He was a gossiper. He knew everything. You knew right there that lying would never work with him, so you just avoided to let him reach that horny part of yours that burned for him. Give him something else to sink his attention into. Your neck, you wanted, but rather you would feed him with gossips from your college classes, or what you got from Suguru Geto, your friend and Satoru’s assistant.

Now, you had already run out of distractions. Maybe that was his plan all along. If the world is correct, and it all falls down to Nanami’s desires, then maybe he was just waiting for you to crumble and admit. You had never been subtle with your eyes, anyway. That’s why he had been so fascinated about it, staring from time to time, trying to catch a glimpse of your true self, like a wishing star in a starry night.

The stars have gone dark, burned and busted away, when you come back to the meeting room and sit down on your designed chair, by his side. Nanami is focusing at you, again, like he needs more of your secrets at this moment. You have never gave him something so largue before, he is addicted.

But you, stubborn, appalled, stoic and all, think your plate of pasta is the most interesting thing in this whole world. You don’t eat much, because your throat is filled with all the words and screams you want to let out. You fear if you so much breathe loud, it will all come flooding this room.

“Are you annotating all of this in your head?” Nanami whispers in your ear, referring to the meeting now in progress. You sign no, and he sighs. “Your mind is far away, today.”

“Sorry.”

“What should I do with you?”

Someone coughs. An old man, standing by the edge of the table. He wants Nanami’s eyes on him, the praise, the goodness. Kento grants him half a smile, and that is not enough. Never will be. Everyone always wants more.

The lights are turned off when the projector is brought by Suguru, he comes and goes quickly, not before stealing a cookie from Satoru. That’s the first smile you present since the incident, and Nanami is back at staring at you with an intensity your heart fears but your pussy drips for. Are you scared? Petrified. And still, you are fucking horny.

He knows your secret, he is devoting his eyes to you, no matter what anyone else wants. He, in this moment, wants you. It might be because he needs to know what you meant, it might be because you are stroking his ego, finally. Or, you dare wonder, he is debating throwing you on that table and fucking you. Old men and Satoru aside, you wouldn’t mind. At all.

You take courage to look at him, and instantly you stare at his lips first, before his eyes. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me. You go back at eyeing the projector. He does the same a long beat later. An even longer one, he slowly puts his hand on your exposed thigh, skirt raised since you set down.

You try to not fail in your stoic face, but you do so anyway. Because, for fuck’s sake, Nanami Kento has his hands on your thigh, his thumb in circular movements. Your lips instinctively curl up, he snorts by your side before going back to his serious demeanor.

You thought he would just keep his hands there, as if testing the water but deciding to stay near the shore. That’s not his case, though. Nanami loves to go to the beach, to swim far away beyond the waves, he likes to get damped. His hand move closer, and you open your legs absentmindedly. He wants, you give. As much as you have wanted, and now he is giving you.

When his hands are pressing against your lacy underwear, you hear a little “Fuck” coming from his mouth. You’re soaking wet.

It’s hard to keep your breathing pattern steady when he is near you. Even more harder when he has one finger slowly penetrating you. For the outsider viewer, everything is normal, and the two of you are just concentrated on the projector screen. The truth is you have no idea what’s going on, and maybe neither does him. You want to moan, and tug his hair until he groans. And you want him to replace his finger with his cock. You stare at the annotation book, empty of your handwriting, and use the opportunity of your head down to hang your mouth open and close your eyes.

Nanami shifts his eyes to you, and he drowns himself into your fucked gaze, even more so when he puts another finger. He can’t linger much, or others will notice, so he decides to keep his movements fluid and calm, and to stare at you from time to time.

He can multitask. Of-fucking-course. He asks questions, answers, he acts as if he is one hundred percent into whatever is going on. The reality is different. The truth is all about his curling fingers pressing themselves in a place inside you that will forever mark his presence there. Like a secret plaything only for him, no one, not even you, will ever reach that. It’s like he is signing it with either his name only or a “Nanami was here.”

You want him to stay, forever. Stay inside you, slow pacing, curling, sensitive.

He can’t, because what feels like hours later, turns into minutes. Everyone is raising up to leave, and he moves out of you so fast, you clench around nothing ── had you been quicker, grabbed his fingers, they all would know. You don’t give a fuck, you want them too know.

“Go to my office.” He whispers before going the opposite direction of the exit, and staying back to talk with the others. You walk without a goodbye, creating an excuse when Satoru wants some of your time.

Inside his office, you feel like breathing for the first time. It’s confusing, like your lungs are new and not fully connected to your esophagus, so it comes up weird ── in a mixture of laugh and relief, salted with a “what the actual fuck”.

You want to stop and think of what’s happening or what’s to happen, but you never had the chance. It’s a second later, and you are being pressed against his, now, locked door. His arms holding your hips, his head resting on your neck, sulking your scent much like you do with his.

“You meant it, right?” He asks, bringing his face up to yours. “You want me to fuck you. Please, darling, say you do, because I need to fuck you now, or I’ll go crazy.”

“Yes, please, please.” Midway through your desperate nod, Nanami lunged at you, catching your lips in his and conducting the rhythm, the strength.

He was so, so good. In all ways. His slow fingers had your legs shaking and his eager kiss has your mind fogged. All that he does seems to be professional, but you know deep down, this effect is all because is made by him. Just his presence alone could have you hot and bothered, but to actually be touched by him, it’s like adding the fire to your gasoline self.

You had always been meant to be burned by Nanami.

He hoist you up against the door, for a quick second his hands kept clawing your thighs, until he walked you both to his desk. He let you down on it, and at the same time, his kisses moved to your neck and shoulder. You could feel the scrape of his teeth, tempted to mark you with a significant bite ── tell them I’m yours, you thought.

He groaned against your flustered skin, because he knew he couldn’t do that. Mark you, that’s it. Fuck you? Oh, that he can, that he will do.

“I need you to be really quiet for me.” His hands are quick on his belt, dropping it with a thud against the floor. He raises your skirt to your waist, Nanami grumbled under his breath with the sight of your underwear. He had touched the elaborate details earlier, but to see it was another story. White, see through, a pink ribbon on the top. “I’m going to rip it.”

“No, you’re not!” Raising your leg, you pushed him away. Eyes still hypnotized by your clothed cunt. You removed the piece with a satisfied smirk. It had been months since you started to wear those type of under-wears, hoping one day this situation would come.

No one wants to fuck their sexy boss with granny’s pants.

The cold table coming in contact with your intimacy made you moan a bit, and Nanami’s attention was back on you. There you were, beautifully waiting for him. Fuck-me eyes, pleading mouth, hands gripping the edge of the desk. You were at his mercy, had been for a while now. And he? Well, Nanami was yours now, that’s what matter.

One of his fingers, the same one he had penetrated you earlier, came back inside you. Smearing itself with your wetness. His other hand gripped your hips, bringing you closer, and making him go deeper. There, right fucking there. He curled, and thrusted, and another two more out of nowhere.

Cruelty was not on the way he was ravishing your cunt, but the biting of your teeth on your hand. You have to be quiet, follow his orders, but Nanami seemed to want to make you scream. Let everyone know that he is fucking you. Nearly fucking you.

Combining this movements with the ones of earlier, you feel your insides getting tighter. He senses as well, and raises his peace once more. But, again, your legs push him away. Nanami doesn’t like that, he comes back quick, wet fingers anxious to reclaim their place inside you, but you sign no, and he halts. That’s it. The man that controls everyone, and he is at your mercy.

“I want to cum on your cock.” Maybe is the sweet and diabolical way you say, or the tilting of your head with a charming smile. What matters is, he complies right away. His pants fall, he takes off his blazer, and not a second later you are presented with what you’ve been craving for months.

Like a pregnant lady, you almost cry and fall on your knees, finally having your desire attended. He doesn’t want that either, instead Nanami takes a condom from his wallet. Before he puts it, his waiting fingers touch your cunt again, grabbing a bit of your liquid and smearing it on himself. You nearly ask him to throw the condom away.

Is a sinful sight. All of this. You on the desk, legs wide open. He in front of you, adjusting himself on the condom. Both groaning when he, fucking finally, align with your entrance, and slowly gets in. He is largue, and thick, and preparation might have been necessary had you not been daydreaming of this moments months ago.

Had he not been himself, that man that makes you drip with just a “good morning”, this might have hurt. Instead, it’s exhilarating to be parted by his cock. The condom does not stop you from feeling his veins tickling your walls, or his tip finally setting near your cervix. That was fucking new. Pleasant and scary, and fucking welcome as well.

“Say it again,” He asks, hands on both your hips and eyes looking over yours. Waiting for the stars to fall over the two of you. “tell me to fuck you.”

“Fuck m──” He doesn’t wait for you to end before he removes himself, and going back with a gushing sound. You nearly scream out of pleasure, but in the last second, you bite your lips strong enough to draw some blood. “Mmh, you fucking a-asshole.” He snorts at that, before slapping your thigh.

Seems that Nanami can do all the noises he wants. He groans against your skin, head hanging low to stare at the way you pussy suck his dick in and out. You have always been a good girl ── his good girl. Taking all the he gave you. Mostly work related, and now his cock. You truly were made just for him.

“You feel so fucking good, baby.” A moan scapes your hands, and he doesn’t bother spanking your leg again. He called you baby, and you’re strangling his dick perfectly. You can shout at this point, he is pussy fucked.

Removing your hands from your mouth, you decide to do something much better than guarding your pleasure. Instead, you open his button-up blue shirt. A dream come through, is what this day will be remembered as. Specially now, where he lets you do as you pleases, and you have the sight of his pecks ── bronzed from a beach trip he took last week, and glistening with sweat for your recent activities. You moaned again, before going for it, and marking him.

Nanami allowed you to do so. He only cared about holding your hips and raise your lower body, so he could make you meet his thrusts halfway. He didn’t hold a care in the world about his groaning getting louder, or the burning on his neck and chest caused by your eager mouth and teeth. Fuck that. Fuck everyone. The only thing he truly wanted was to be inside of you forever. To be planted in this moment of his life, on loop, being marked by you, having his cock milked out by your dripping cunt. That’s what his life was made for.

Nanami Kento had this aura that made everyone scramble for him and his left-overs, as a way to keep close. To say they have something that once was his. Because everyone knew that Nanami was no one’s property. This moment, this fuck, this pussy proved that statement to be contraire ── he was yours. From the first day he saw you and specially one hour ago, when he had eaten your cookie and you told him to fuck you. He knew right then that he would shift the whole balance of the world to give you what you want.

And if that’s his aching cock, fucking be it. It’s yours. You’re taking it so good, and barely paying attention to it. He keeps bruising your cervix, and you respond with little whimpers and more bites. He quicken his peace, you close your legs around his waist, as if giving him more opening.

A perfect synchrony.

“Wan’ to cum.” You mumble just right after he senses your wall get tight.

“C’mon, baby, ugh, cum f’me.”

“Mmh, fuck, ngha.”

You do right after, going limp on his arms, he slow his thrusting with a snort and laying you down on the desk. He shuffles something by your dazed-self side, before he brings a black sharpie near your cleavage. He kisses and licks and sucks on it, before opening the pen with his mouth, and signing a straight line.

“How many more can you give me, pretty?” You don’t answer in words, but with more quiet whimpers, when his thrusts go back to pounding you in a maniac pace. He holds your neck down, leaning to kiss you through your beautiful moans.

You’re sensitive, he knows. Because you keep closing more and more around his length, trying to make him cum, unknown to you that it only makes you closer to coming again. You hit your head on the desk when trying to follow his departed lips, Nanami has your neck again on his mouth, tasting your sweat and lotion, and all you can give him. It’s only when he bites it slightly, you release yourself once more.

“Mmph, fuck, fuck, argh.”

Nanami keeps jerking his hips onto yours, not even having cum once. He takes pleasure in yours, you can see. With a proud smirk, he grabs the sharpie once more, but this time, he makes a diagonal line that touches the top of the first.

“Mhm──!”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, baby. Just a bit more.” He cooed at you, sweet tone diverging from his animalistic movements.

You’re not complaining, not even regretting. So you keep yourself down and let Nanami control both of yours fun. He is ruthless in his pace and fantastic with his kisses, he doesn’t mind your moaning anymore, or the fact that everyone on your floor already knows. What can they do? Stop you? Nanami will rip everyone apart and just return to your pussy. Threaten him? No one would dare. He is still their sweetheart, their most sacred prize, beautiful and shinning to look at. Never to have.

“I’m, ugh, I’m yours.” He grunts.

This time, you sense a shift in his thrusts. So methodical now sloppy, and his cock kept twitching inside of you, sending more waves of pleasure to your core. Yes, fucking finally, he was near.

“All fucking m──mine.” You agreed with his words, grabbing the back of his neck and slamming your lips together. “I’m yours, always had been.”

Nanami can’t even control himself anymore. He groans and pants as he releases himself inside you. With a mist of swearing and praises you could barely decipher. After all, his own release had triggered yours.

When you both had come back from the high, Nanami raised himself from your chest, and kissed you, tongues intertwining, teeth clashing and biting. When he parted, leaving you breathless, he had then pen in his hand again. It touched your skin, once more, connecting from the bottom of his last line, going up straight.

It’s a “N”.

“You think we can spell my name?” He asks, leaving your inside to throw his condom out. He opens a drawer, where a box with more is presented.

“That would be more 17 fucks.” You support your weight on your elbows while counting.

“It’s that a no?”

You can’t help the laugh that bubbles up your throat, before beckoning him closer. He does right away, kissing you hungrily once more. As if he is trying to record forever the taste of your mouth. He has your hair in his fists, pushing it back so he can go back to your, now, heavily marked neck.

“Let’s see how far can we go.” You indulge into his crazy erotic idea.

Nanami smiles triumphantly. He removes himself from your body, but doesn’t put condoms, instead, he falls on his knees, diving straight for your pussy.

Hours later, the sun beginning to set on the horizon, you leave his locked office with a smug smirk and timid eyes. Both accompanied by messy hair, flushed cheeks, marked neck and… “Nana” written on your chest.

“We’ll finish this later.” He comes behind you, closing his shirt, but letting the top buttons opened enough to catch a glimpse of your love marks on his chest. Specially the one with “Mine” marked in it.

[inkdrinkerworld]

hiii! since you requested bucky thoughts, since his resurgence i’ve been thinking of him and a shy!reader? like maybe he takes her to some sort of avengers charity gala and helps her with her nerves and anxiousness with all the people? love your work:))

oh this is so cute!!! I did change it a bit so they're at a kind of government related party but it's very vague, but that's it!

“Hiding from everyone?” Bucky whispers behind you making you jolt where you stand, your body shielded by two corners that crest a perfect blind spot. 

You hadn’t heard him because you were busy chewing on the skin around your nails and scanning the Justice Hall for people you knew. 

“Bucky you can’t do that.” You slap at his chest, and he chuckles. 

Your heart’s already beating a thousand miles per minute, any more nervousness and you’re sure you’ll pass out. 

He smiles, shaking his head as he leans against the wall. 

“You can’t stay up here forever, doll. They’re going to come looking for you.” 

Your body stills, eyes wide as you look up at Bucky. There’s some small part of you that hopes he’s exaggerating, but the other part of you knows he’s being so totally serious you’re worried you’ll get hives from the anxiety that builds in you. 

Bucky doesn’t let you spiral too far, “Or, I can be your date and show you off so everyone sees your pretty face and doesn’t come looking for you.” 

That’s another thing that gives you anxiety. Bucky’s very free with his compliments of you, though you’ve hardly done anything to earn them. 

He calls you ‘pretty’ or ‘doll’ and when he’s in a very flirty mood, he’ll call you his girl which makes you feel just as you imagine butter on a warm day.

He notices every reaction too, he knows when you can take his over the top flirting and when you just need a simple but effective, ‘how’s my girl today?’ 

You’re not together, or dating, Bucky just likes you and you’re too shy to take any of his advances seriously. He’s trying though, to make you realise that he’s very committed to the possibility of you and him. You’re running out of reasons to brush off his advances and you’re sure with all his super enhancements he can tell that you’re just as infatuated with him as he is with you. 

“Bucky,” 

He only shakes his head and holds out his arm for you. “I won’t leave you to fend for yourself, what sort’a gentleman would I be?” 

You mumble under your breath and thanks to his super hearing he makes it out, ‘This can’t be gentlemanly,’  but he doesn’t want to embarrass you further so he says nothing. You hook your arm through his, and Bucky smiles. 

Bucky takes measured steps to get you both back to the glitz and the glamour of the party in full swing, he doesn’t say much of anything, but you feel a little less anxious knowing he’s with you. 

“Breathe doll,” he whispers as the people come into view and you seize up where you stand. 

You’re trying, but there’s so many of them here and they’re going to want to know something about the project you’re working on, and that makes you scared. 

You don’t want to have to speak to any of them or endure their never ending questions that come across so condescending that your skin itches. 

“I don’t think I can do this, Bucky.” You feel like the walls are closing in around you just standing there and Bucky’s quick to notice when your breath rattles.

Your breathing is shallow and sharp, your hand squeezing Bucky’s arm hard. He doesn’t flinch or say anything, he lets you squeeze his hand as he looks for another secluded area. 

When he does, Bucky’s quick but gentle as he leads you into the cove of two walls. You’re starting to get pale and it worries him more than he cares to reveal.

“Hey,” he uses his vibranium arm to press into the skin of your neck, knowing that the coolness of it will help focus you a little. His voice is sharp but it helps snap you out of your panic a little.

Bucky presses his other arm on your chest, “I’m right here, gorgeous. Focus on me, yeah?” 

You nod, but your eyes are unfocused as Bucky guides your chin upwards. 

“Doll, you’re gonna have to take a breath unless you wanna pass out right here.” He’s terrified of you actually doing that, but the ease in his voice makes you gasp on what he hopes is a laugh and then you take a breath. 

“Good,” Bucky demonstrates a few till you can take deep lungfuls of air without his prompting. “That’s good, baby.” 

When you’ve calmed a little, Bucky gets you to catch his gaze and gives you a little smile. “Want something to drink?” 

You shake your head, not wanting Bucky to leave just yet. “Just wanna stay here for a little bit.” 

Bucky can’t help it, “Want me all to yourself, doll?” When you sputter he smiles, “You didn’t have to have an anxiety attack for that.” his hand cups your cheek, stroking your cheek as your face heats. 

“Bucky,” it’s all you can manage and he smiles, a little dimple poking through his beard.

He takes a peak out of the corner and finds one of the senators looking for him. “Give me ten minutes. I’ll bring you something to drink, I promise.” 

Bucky doesn’t move until you nod, and even then he doesn’t let you go until he’s pressed a kiss to your cheek. 

You stay in your hideaway till he comes back, and when he does it’s with a glass of water. 

“How’s my girl?” he asks as he comes closer, tie discarded and hair a little more disheveled as a few strands caress his forehead. 

You scowl but accept the water, “M’better.” Bucky’s grin stretches his entire face, lighting his eyes. Bucky presses a hand to your neck, feeling your pulse and finding it slow, it lingers there for a moment and as he pulls away, little goosebumps erupt on your arms.

“Wanna get out of here?” he asks, shucking off his jacket and placing it over your shoulders when he notices them. 

You look up at him mid sip, “But I haven’t spoken to anyone.”

Bucky shrugs, “I may have said that you’re coming down with something and are possibly contagious.”

Your eyes widened in shock, “And they believed I’d go home with you.”

Bucky’s smile is impish, “We can’t get enough of each other doll, what do you mean?”

You roll your eyes, and gesture for Bucky to escort you. 

Halfway to his car he asks, “What about dinner? There’s a really nice place that serves that pasta you like.”

You’re a little shocked Bucky remembers the pasta you like, but you can’t help but smile. 

“Sure, but I’m paying. As a thank you.”

He opens the door for you and scoffs, “I’d love to see you try that, doll.”

[bowxs]

thinking about studying w stanford!sam but getting to distracted (who wouldnt)

divider from @uzmacchiato !!

you were trying to study- you really were! thats at least what you told yourself as you climbed onto sams lap, mumbling something about needing a break as you straddled one of his thighs

it couldve passed as you annoying sam with how focused he was on the stupid book rather than you, but it took everything in him to stay focused and not give into his steadily growing need

you could feel him tensing his thigh everytime you shifted or sighed against him, the small movements and noises would drive any man mad, never mind your boyfriend whos obsessed with you

“sammy? y’almost done?” you lifted your head from his chest, leaning so your in his line of view, effectively blocking the book. even if he said no, you would make sure he at least took a break

you can predict his answer already when he sighs, looking up at you with those apologetic eyes “i got a midterm tomorrow, baby- m’never gonna be done” he says, almost sheepishly, knowing you didnt want that answer

you just hum in response, rolling your hips against his thick thigh, already come up with the perfect plan to get him to focus on you, just for a bit “take a break? please”

you could hear him groan before he shut his book, tossing it god-knows-where before his hands are on your hips. score.

your hips never stopped grinding against his thigh, he just started helping, lifting his leg to give you more friction as he guided your movements like you weighed nothing

his lips were on yours like no tomorrow, biting and licking into your mouth as if you tasted like his favourite candy- you probably did.

“too goddamn desperate for me” he grunts out, pulling you harder down against him, his big hands practically covering your hips “couldnt even wait an hour- too horny to wait” he scoffs at you. how rude.

“sammy- god- dont be mean” you pant out into his mouth, the torturous grind of your hips slowly building your orgasm, but its far too dull for your liking

“not being mean, baby. you asked for this” he kisses you properly again, effectively quieting you of any further protest you could possibly come up with right now

the friction of his jeans through your panties and your leggings was somehow too much and too little at the same time, the feeling both under and overwhelming

“sammy please- i said m’sorry-” you complained, your hands tugging at the worn flannel he was wearing, trying to give him your best pleading look

“your gonna cum on my thigh like a slut since you wanna act like one.”

maybe not waiting was bad idea.

[elumish]

One thing I don't see show up as a consideration in worldbuilding a lot is what things are professionalized.

By that I mean how (and whether) certain activities or focuses are conducted in an organized, professional manner or treated as a career path or industry (often with set standards or training involved) rather than those that are treated primarily as hobbies or conducted in an ad hoc manner.

Standing armies, for example, are professionalized in a way that temporary armies or militias aren't. Being in the military is a profession that is organized and has specific standards and training and that clearly distinguishes between people who are or are not in the military. If we look at a lot of past wars, though, as well as many militias, being in the military was not a career for most people (especially most enlisted) and the time and effort between deciding to join and being on a battlefield was significantly smaller.

A professionalized military will generally be a stronger, more cohesive, more effective military--but it is also far more expensive to maintain, because as it is a profession the military servicemembers pull their salary from the military on a regular basis, and it takes away hands from other tasks such as manufacturing and farming.

Over the last few hundred years a lot of countries have seen (to varying degrees) professionalization of fields like firefighting, policing, pharmacology, emergency response, and search and rescue. In these cases, it reflects 1) a recognized need for a standing trained force that can respond quickly; 2) a recognized need for standards and credentialing; 3) the ability societally to have individuals who might otherwise be contributing to manufacturing or food production not do that indefinitely; 4) a dedicated ongoing effort to maintain standards, trainings, etc.; and 5) organizations (generally governments) that can pay for these services.

We also see the professionalization of other things, like youth sports--the push to treat youth sports as either primarily a system to develop professional athletes or a career on its own.

When you're doing worldbuilding, consider what roles would be treated in this professionalized manner, rather than those that would be viewed as temporary positions or conducted on an ad hoc basis.

Is there a standing professional military? How does the professionalization differ between officers and enlisted?

Is emergency preparedness, response, or recovery a professionalized field? Is the focus of that profession on planning? On search and rescue, triage, or other immediate response activities or coordination? On rebuilding following disasters? On managing grants, tax relief, or other monetary aspects of rebuilding?

Is pharmacology a regulated industry that requires training or credentialing? Is medicine?

Is firefighting generally conducted by individuals in the neighborhood? By private industry? By unpaid volunteers managed by a governmental or non-governmental organization? By full-time paid staff?

Are these positions generally a full-time job or an ad hoc/as needed job that can be called on? If it is an ad hoc position, what are the credentialing requirements to be put on the roster?

[cxrrodedcoffin]

Close to You - Spencer Reid

Likes are always appreciated but reblogs and feedback keep artists going!

Summary: Spencer is needy and Reader has a work deadline to meet, so they try something new as a compromise.

Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: me writing another cockwarming fic? it’s more likely than you’d think ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ (no mommy kink this time cuz this feels more mild as far as the sub/dom dynamic goes, maybe next time!)

TW: sub!spencer, softdom!reader, cockwarming, unprotected sex, penetrative sex, creampie, afab reader

Rating: R/18+ (oops all smut)

——

The blue light of your computer screen was starting to make your eyes hurt, the hours of completed paperwork in your rearview feeling like nothing compared to the digital mountain of remaining work for your proposal you still had to complete by the deadline your boss had given you. Working from home certainly had its perks, but right now the only thing you could think of was how much more focused you’d be if you were still in an office.

“How’s work going?” Spencer’s voice broke your train of thought as he turned the corner into your home office.

“It’s fine, I still have a lot to get done.” You sighed, continuing to type away on your keyboard.

“You know, I was reading an article the other day about studies being conducted that explore the long term effects the extended work hours work-from-home jobs require have on the average adult, it went pretty in-depth on how psychologists suspect the lack of separation between work and the home environment can negatively affect the way we prioritize professional work with personal tasks and quality time.” You could tell your boy-wonder was using his vast knowledge to pick an article with a topic that was a bit too on the nose to beat around the bush of his point, but you didn’t know why.

“That’s very interesting Spencer, but why bring that up when you know I can’t stop working?” You questioned, calling his bluff.

“We haven’t had sex in 2 weeks.” He mumbled, just loud enough for you to hear. You knew that, and it was driving you crazy just as much as it was him, but this project was major and if you wanted to get the promotion you had been working so hard to get, you had to set your personal needs aside for a bit.

“I’ll make it up to you once I finish this, I promise.” You weren’t lying, your accidental celibacy had stretched your imagination to some very interesting places, and you couldn’t wait to try those new things with him, but it had to wait, no matter how touch-starved you felt.

“I want you.” He almost whined, taking a couple steps further into your peripheral vision.

“Spencer, you know I need to get this project completed before my deadline tomorrow, I don’t have time for this.”

“But I need…help.” His words were drawn out, his hushed tone piquing your interest. You pushed your chair out, craning your neck to make eye contact with him before his gaze dipped lower and yours followed. The fabric of his pajama pants was pulled taut over his bulge, his fidgeting hands barely restricting your view despite his attempt to hide the evidence of his arousal behind them.

“Oh baby, that must hurt, huh?” You sighed, giving him a sympathetic look before turning back to your work.

“It does, I need you.” He pleaded, coming up behind you to rest his hands on your shoulders.

“You need to take care of it yourself.” Your statement came out more blunt than you intended and a hint of guilt started to pang in your chest, the stress of this deadline was starting to get to you and you didn’t mean to take it out on him.

“I’m sorry to bother you, I know you’re busy, but I already tried and I just made it worse, you feel so much better than my hand does.” He over-explained, continuing to plead his case as his fingers started kneading the sore muscles atop your shoulders.

You mulled over your options, the concept of his admittedly impressive cock filling your neglected cunt sounding all-too appealing in the moment. You knew you couldn’t take the time to fuck him right now, after no sex for two weeks your carnal urges would absolutely take over and you’d wind up ignoring your work for the rest of the night, to the detriment of your employment status. You were about to send him away when an idea popped into your head, something that could be a good compromise to both of your predicaments if done correctly.

“Drop your pants.” You bluntly stated, beginning to stand from your chair. He followed your instruction, a bit confused but too excited to question, always eager to please you. You also stripped from the waist down, ignoring the growing slick between your thighs.

“Sit down.” Came your next instruction, your eyes fixed on his erection, his head blushed pink and dripping with precum. When he was situated you climbed back onto the chair with him, positioning your knees on the suede fabric on either side of his thighs, hips hovering over his member. You reached down, fingers wrapping around his length as you positioned his head at your dripping entrance, reveling in the first sexual contact the two of you had experienced in far too long.

You slowly sank down, your warm walls engulfing his throbbing cock until you were seated fully on his lap, the fullness giving you a sense of satisfaction. Spencer’s breathy sighs and white-knuckled grip on the arms of the chair told you he was enjoying this just as much as you were, but you knew he would want more any second. You on the other hand were always better at controlling your desires, even just this level of intimacy enough to satiate you for the moment.

You relaxed into him, back pressed to his chest as you began your work once again, ignoring the dull ache in your core.

“A-are you going to move?” Spencer’s desperate voice broke the silence after a few minutes of you typing away at your computer.

“No. This is all I have time to give you right now. If you’re a good boy and stay still for me, I’ll let you do whatever you want tonight.” You were curious to see how well he’d do with this. Even though Spencer prided himself on being the smartest in the room at any given time, he wasn’t very good at controlling his urges and it amused you how his composure could disappear if he was desperate enough, particularly around you.

“Okay.” He breathed, seeing the muscles in his arms relax and the grip he held on the chair loosen out of the corner of your eye.

You continued your work, busting your ass to complete your project as quickly as possible. Every once and awhile you’d flex your kegel muscles, your walls contracting around his cock to keep him as hard as possible, teasing him to see how hard you could push his patience.

You grew closer to your last tasks, the end finally in sight when you felt him start to shift under you, hips attempting to thrust up into you. You anchored your hips, holding him down to not break your focus. He let out the most pathetic whine you’d ever heard, running his hand through his hair out of frustration.

“If you move again, you won’t cum tonight. I’m almost done, do not distract me again.” You told him sternly, rocking your hips back one time as an incentive.

“Understood.” He groaned, thighs relaxing beneath you.

You wrapped up the last paragraph of your proposal, satisfied with the work you had done. You could feel Spencer tense when you closed out of the last application and shut off the computer, screen darkening and leaving the two of you bathed in the golden glow of sunset in an otherwise dark room. Instead of finishing him there, you rose off of him, leaving him groaning in desperation.

His cock was covered in your slick, veins throbbing and head almost purple from how desperate he was to cum. You started walking out of the room, finger motioning for him to follow you and he almost tripped over the chair, trailing in your shadow. You found the bedroom, stripping out of your remaining clothing while contemplating what position you wanted him in. Your thighs were starting to burn from sitting in the position you had held for so long, so you opted for good old-fashioned missionary. You laid down on the bed, thighs spread as Spencer pulled off his shirt and waited for your instruction.

“Come here.” The words had barely left your lips and Spencer was already on the end of the bed, crawling up to you like an animal on the prowl.

“Do you want to fuck me, Spencer?” You asked, drawing out his torture just a little while longer.

“Yes please, need to feel your perfect cunt again.” He begged, looking down at you with his big brown eyes.

“Go ahead, but don’t cum until I say so.” You instructed, your hand finding the nape of his neck, tugging lightly on his hair. He moaned, positioning himself at your entrance before thrusting fully into you, his gaze locked on the way your breasts bounced with each desperate thrust into your warm cunt.

His pace remained steady, pounding into you, your pleasure slowly building but not quite hitting the spot you needed him to. You wrapped your legs around his hips, angling your hips up ever so slightly and you couldn’t help but cry out, his cock finally hitting the soft spot inside of you that you’d been craving. He dropped his head into your shoulder, bringing his hand to your pussy to rub firm swipes over your clit, clearly desperately trying to make you cum so he could.

“So close, I don’t know how much longer I can last.” He panted, hips faltering slightly.

“It’s okay baby, don’t stop.” You moaned, too close to care about being firm with him anymore after how good he’d been for you today.

His thrusts became increasingly desperate, driving into you at a pace that had you seeing stars, the combined pressure on your clit sending you over the edge in a blur of white hot ecstasy.

“Spencer!” You cried out, nails digging into his back as you rode out your orgasm, rocking your hips to meet his thrusts.

His moans grew louder, hips stuttering and you could tell he was almost there, but something was holding him back.

“Cum inside me.”

Your request was all he needed to hear, not having to worry about pulling out anymore allowing all of his focus to finally come undone, hot ropes of cum filling your aching cunt. He pulled out of you, collapsing beside you with his head on your chest, long legs almost dangling off the side of the bed. You laid there spent, gently running your fingers through his hair until you both caught your breath.

“Thank you.” He spoke, lifting his head to look you in the eye.

“There's no need to thank me Spence, I’m sorry I’ve been so busy. You were right about overworking, I’ll try to delegate a bit more.” You sighed.

“I just don’t want you to overwork yourself, you deserve to enjoy yourself more often.” He leaned up to pull you into a kiss, his arms wrapping around your waist as you finally got a moment to relax for the first time in weeks.

——

Tag List: @pleasantwitchgarden @lover-of-books-and-tea

DM me or send me an ask if you’d like to be added to my general or spencer reid taglist :)

[lune-moon-nuit]

"...cause I love her and I CAN'T LOSE her AGAIN"

“I'm just trying to demonstrate how careless Max is with Eleven's powers. In fact, how careless all of you are. You're treating her like some kind of machine when she's not a machine, and I don't want her to die looking for the flayed when they've obviously vanished off the face of the Earth. So can we please just come up with a new plan because I love her and I can't lose her again.”

Mike’s most quoted line in Season 3 — “Because I love her and I can’t lose her again” — is often cited as definitive proof of his love for Eleven. But this statement, when viewed in full context, is a trauma response rather than a heartfelt romantic confession.

What’s hilarious is that the reason why he said that is literally in the sentence itself: the trauma. It’s ironic that this scene is being used as the ultimate proof, when in reality, it perfectly illustrates Mike’s core issue. The trauma of having watched her sacrifice herself to protect him, after he’d spent the entire first season urging her to use her powers (he literally said it in season 1 that she was a weapon). What pushed him to say this was the accumulation of all the unresolved trauma he experienced throughout Seasons 1 and 2—and that doesn’t exactly strengthen your argument, because…

The trauma begins in Season 1. Mike forms a fast, intense bond with Eleven while Will is missing. He projects his grief, fear, and protective instincts onto her.

Expanding upon the notion that trauma lies at the heart of Mike and Eleven's relationship, it's significant to note that the moment Mike kisses Eleven in Season 1 occurs on the very same day he effectively attempted suicide by leaping into the quarry—an act from which she rescued him. From that point forward, he perceives himself as entirely indebted to her. Not only had he already idealized her as his only hope of finding Will, but she now embodied the literal reason he was still alive. Layered atop this is the influence of those around him—Lucas, Dustin, and even Nancy—who had begun to suggest he harbored romantic feelings toward her. Combined with his own confused emotions, the pedestal upon which he placed her from the very beginning due to the almost mythic timing of her arrival in his life, it constructs what appears to be a perfect narrative. And as a Dungeon Master and an aspiring storyteller, Mike is especially susceptible to such emotionally charged, almost archetypal storylines. Within this context, it becomes entirely plausible that he would interpret his overwhelming emotions—rooted in trauma, gratitude, and projection—as romantic love. That this kiss occurred on the very day of a near-death experience he never references again (and may never have shared with anyone besides those present) underscores the depth of repression and denial involved. Fundamentally, their relationship is born out of mutual trauma and survivor’s guilt. It is a structure of codependency rather than genuine romantic affection. Personally, I believe that had Mike not jumped into the quarry, and had Eleven not saved him, he would not have kissed her that night.

From the moment Eleven disappears at the end of Season 1 after using her powers to save him and their friends, Mike internalizes guilt and blame. He had encouraged her to keep using her powers, to push herself, and to fight — and she seemingly died because of it. He urges her to use her powers repeatedly, culminating in her presumed death. For nearly a year, Mike believes she died because he pushed her too far, he grieved her, believing it was his fault. This established a psychological pattern of guilt and a compulsive need to protect her, not because of romantic love, but as a trauma response.

If he truly loved her romantically, he would’ve reacted with joy and emotional fulfillment at the end of Season 3, when El told him she heard what he said and that she loves him too. He would’ve kissed her back, smiled, said something, even if he was surprised. The truth of that scene is, ironically, a perfect summary of how Mike—his point of view and his emotions—is misunderstood by the other characters and also by the audience. Because he is incapable of truly communicating or expressing his emotions.

That scene is literally Mike breaking down in a full-blown panic, triggered by his unresolved trauma: the fear of loss and abandonment caused by Will’s disappearance in Season 1, El’s absence and presumed death in Season 2, the helplessness of watching Will be possessed and nearly die, the massacre at the lab (gosh let’s be honest, Michael Wheeler urgently needs therapy, I did a post cut in two part : here and here who develop more and where I was already mentioning how this scene says a lot about Mike mental health), and finally, his survivor’s guilt for having encouraged El to use her powers to the point where she “died” right before his powerless eyes. This scenario is a mirror of Season 1's climax, and Mike’s panic reveals a deep-rooted fear of repeating past events.

For a whole year, he believed he was the reason El was dead. And the very argument that triggered that line was literally about whether or not El should keep pushing herself and her powers to the limit to stop Billy—when she had already nearly died doing exactly that. So yes, when Mike says, "Because I love her and I CAN’T LOSE HER AGAIN," it's true. Because, breaking news: Mike does love El. He deeply cares about her. He feels the need to protect her. He carries immense guilt over what happened to her, which only amplifies his desperate need to protect her now and avoid repeating the same mistake that, in his eyes, led to her "death"—a death that felt absolutely real to him.

When faced with the possibility of losing El again in Season 3, Mike's fear resurfaces—not because he is madly in love, but because he cannot emotionally survive another loss for which he feels responsible (he is just 14 here remember). The panic in his voice, the overwhelming urgency of “I can’t lose her again,” reveals that it is not romantic love driving him—it is fear, shame, and unresolved grief. This is compounded by his lack of romantic follow-through when she returns. There is no joy, no emotional intimacy, no physical warmth. Instead, there is distance, awkwardness, and emotional shutdown.

But the real truth in that line isn’t even the “because I love her” part—because nothing in that moment confirms he's saying it romantically (especially since he can’t even say it to her face, can’t write it to her, and still can’t say it even after she confirmed that she loves him and heard him say it). So yes, he loves her, just like he loves Lucas, just like he loves Nancy, just like he loves Dustin.

What truly matters in that sentence is: “and I CAN’T lose her AGAIN.” And those are the words he emphasizes. Not “because I love her”—that part is rushed, buried in the flood of words he’s pouring out mid-panic. But he clearly articulates and stresses “and I CAN’T lose her AGAIN.”

Everything is shown here—not told—through his words, his body language, his tone, the context. His trauma is triggered. He’s terrified. He’s trying to prevent history from repeating itself, because the current situation feels too much like the Season 1 finale from his perspective.

So no, it wasn’t romantic love that drove him to say that. It was unresolved, ignored trauma being violently reactivated. The only difference lies in how people interpret that line—be it other characters or the audience—through the lens of heteronormativity, completely ignoring the full context and everything that follows in Mike’s behavior and attitude toward El.

It could’ve been cute, and could’ve worked in your favor—if the show had ended with that episode. But unfortunately, the Season 3 finale and the entirety of Season 4 only go on to confirm that yes, he loves her and he can’t lose her again, but he doesn’t love her romantically, and he is deeply traumatized and in need of healing from his abandonment and loss issues—or else Vecna’s going to have an easy time with him.

If Mike were truly in love with Eleven, one would expect expressions of that love to come naturally, especially in moments of emotional vulnerability. Yet, at the end of Season 3, when Eleven tells him she heard what he said and that she loves him too, Mike gives no response. He looks stunned, confused, almost empty. He does not affirm her words, kiss her back, or show any sign of romantic fulfillment. Mike’s behavior in these scenes doesn’t resemble a boy in love. It resembles a boy in distress, one who is playing a role he feels obligated to fulfill, but who cannot emotionally connect with that role.

This pattern continues in Season 4. He avoids writing “Love, Mike” (and write every time "From Mike" instead) in letters, despite knowing it’s what Eleven needs to hear. When confronted, he dodges and manipulates: “I say it”. But we, the audience (and El too), know that he doesn’t. His behavior is not that of a loving boyfriend, but of someone trapped in a role he doesn’t know how to escape from. His “I love you” speech in Volume 2 is prompted not by genuine passion, but by external pressure, specifically by Will’s emotionally charged metaphorical painting (that channels Will’s own feelings for him) and pep talk and his finally staged encouragement ("don't stop, remember, you are the heart ! You're the heart"). The words are performative, desperate, idealized—not grounded in emotional truth. He praises a version of Eleven that no really exists, emphasizing her strength and powers, not her vulnerability, her personality, or her heart. This suggests he is in love with the idea of her—an idea shaped by admiration, yes, but especially guilt and obligation, not affection (further alienating her and reinforcing that his attachment is conditional and performative).

So yes, if the only two times your boyfriend tells you he loves you are:

– once, when you're not physically present, and he says it in a panicked trauma response, then refuses to take ownership of those words afterwards,

– and the second time is only after you told him that never hearing it from him is hurting you, and you need to hear it—and instead of reassuring you, he gaslights you into thinking he says it when he clearly doesn’t, dodges the subject by idealizing you as a superhero…

…and this “I love you” only comes when you’re on the brink of death, and only because his best friend handed him a painting with a disguised declaration of love in it?

Then I’m sorry, but that’s not romance. That’s codependency, guilt, trauma, emotional repression, and societal expectations. Not romantic love.

The relationship between Mike and El has long been framed through a heteronormative lens, one that presumes emotional closeness between a boy and a girl must equate to romantic attraction. The show’s framing and marketing often push this narrative, but Mike’s behavior consistently subverts it. His discomfort with physical affection, his emotional volatility, and his failure to express romantic feelings — even when prompted — all suggest that this narrative is externally imposed, not internally felt.

The audience’s insistence on seeing “Because I love her and I can't lose her again” as a definitive romantic confession overlooks the complexity of Mike’s trauma, his guilt, and his emotional repression. It ignores the fact that he never says it to Eleven directly until forced to, and even then, it is with inauthentic language and shaky motivation. The tragedy is that Mike’s real love story — one rooted in slow-burn intimacy, shared vulnerability, and mutual understanding — is with Will. But because it doesn’t fit the traditional mold, it goes unacknowledged by both the characters and the audience.

Mike Wheeler is not a romantic lead blindly in love with Eleven. He is a traumatized boy burdened by guilt, struggling with self-identity, repressing his true feelings, and unconsciously projecting protectiveness as love. His actions toward Eleven are rooted in trauma, not desire, while his connection with Will reveals the kind of emotional intimacy that speaks to a deeper, romantic truth. Until Mike confronts his trauma and his sexuality, he will continue to play a role that does not align with who he truly is — a boy in love, not with the girl who saved him, but with the boy who always understood him.

Mike is not a character who lacks love—on the contrary, he feels deeply. But his emotional repression, unresolved trauma, and fear of loss lead him to confuse guilt with devotion, and obligation with romance. His relationship with Eleven is a product of circumstance and narrative expectation—but it lacks the emotional reciprocity, intimacy, and authenticity of true romantic love. Meanwhile, his emotional world orbits around Will, whose presence brings out the rawest, most vulnerable, and most honest version of Mike.

In truth, Mike doesn’t need a girlfriend—he needs healing. He needs to confront his guilt, allow himself to feel, and to stop hiding behind a version of love that doesn’t belong to him. Only then will he be able to understand what love really is—and who it’s truly for.

[realcube]

HQ MEN AS YOUR BOSS ...with chemistry pt2

characters ♡ kuroo, atsumu, sakusa & ushijima

tws/tags ♡ vaginal, semi-public sex // recording, slight daddy kink // oral (receiving) // size kink — minors dni!

part one ♡ sfw version

♡ KUROO

as a chief sports promotor, of course kuroo needs a secretary, but the jva says he'll need to pay for one out of his own wage. he's apprehensive about the idea at first but figures that with the time he'll save by having one, the profit would be greater than the loss. and once he meets you, he's automatically sold.

although he may have have been wrong about the whole 'profit greater than loss' thing, he's definitely losing a bit of money by having you as a secretary. not of your performance or anything — no, you're an incredibly effective worker and are increasing engagement by tenfolds — but rather, due to the fact he's dropped thousands on gifts for you.

kuroo isn't subtle about wanting you, so instead of overtly flirting with you like a lout, waiting by your desk almost everyday is a gift with a cheeky note. without fail, it is always pricey and extravagant too: diamond necklaces, luxury perfumes, designer bags and jewellery made from real gold and silver (he knows which metal you prefer, but he buys you both because you can have it all). it's a classy way of showing he cares.

one day, a random tuesday a month after you and your ex broke up, your primal desires took over, and — after two years of knowing each other — you finally decided to submit to kuroo's advances. you could do a lot worse, anyway.

and you realise that as he has you bent over his desk, in his office contructed of mainly windows. at least you had a nice view of the city skyline while he hit it from behind. with his hands starting at your waist, then exploring under blouse, he leans forward to sensually kiss from your shoulders to your neck. slowly and gentle, in stark constrast to how roughly he was nailing into you.

he keeps going until he reaches just behind your ear, then he chuckles against your flush skin, "wearing the perfume i bought, angel? smells good on you." his finger circles your clit teasingly, "i like it. gotta let everyone know whose bitch you are."

♡ ATSUMU

he doesn't give a shit about his garden, it just happened to come with the big house he bought. there could be a family of rabies-infested racoons living back there for all he cares. atsumu just saw your personal adverisement for your gardening services online and thought you were hot. thus, he made up some lie about wanting trees planted and flowers grown to get you to come over.

but once you actually arrived at his home, you were far too focussed on taming the inhospitable environment he calls a garden to even notice the passes he was making at you. eventually he just gave up and left you to your work, but not without discreetly taking photos of you from the windows in his kitchen to send to the msby jackals groupchat with the 👀 eyes emoji.

he was expecting jealousy to befall the team but instead, the jackals take notice of how intently you are working on the garden, and atsumu receives and influx of messages mocking him for showing off a girl that clearly has no interest in him and offering their houses as a solace for you. however, he promptly replies stating that even though you may seem preoccupied right now, by the end of the day, he guarantees he will have slept with you, and if he doesn't, he owes each one of them ten thousand yen.

and unfortunately for the jackals, atsumu wins that bet.

"just like that, yeah." he grunts, holding your legs against his shoulders, "cum for daddy. c'mon." his breathing is heavy while his bare chest, glistening with a sheen of sweat, heaves. he has you laying on his coffee table while he fucks into you, big cock leaving you a wet, incoherent mess. your greedy cunt clamps down on him and he can tell by your quivering legs and heightening moans that you are close to your climax.

"thats righ— wait.." his breath hitches, steady pace faltering for only a moment as he grabs his phone off the couch and swipes, onto the camera. slowly regaining power and momentum in his thusts while holding the camera above your exposed figure. he grins and slurs, "gotta record this t' send to the team n' prove i wrecked this gorgeous body. go on. keep moaning for daddy."

♡ SAKUSA

there's no better feeling than coming home to a pristine house, that's what sakusa thought. however, being pro volleyball and always training and going to promotional events hasn't left him with much time to get the cleaning done himself. he wasn't fond of the idea of someone being in his house alone when he wasn't there, but he was even less fond of coming home after a long day of training, muscles aching, and still having to vacuum.

he researched dozens of cleaning companies, until he found one that he deemed reputable enough hire from. he arrages the trial for a day he is off so he can assess the quality and trust-worthiness of the cleaner he is sent.

so perhaps it was the halo effect, but as soon as he saw you walk through his door, he knew he wouldn't have a problem with leaving you alone in his house. in fact, the idea tickled him slightly.

having a cleaner wasn't cheap, especially considering how big his house is. despite that, after he met you, he increased the frequency of cleaning visits to five days a week, making you essentially his personal staff. and it goes on like this for around five months, racking up quite hefty total.

every single penny is worth it though, in his opinion. to come home to shining floors, spotless counters and to experience the habitual fleeting moment of tension between the two of you, before you left. that all changed though when he got his first day off in months, and he was able to hang around the house while you did your usual duties.

you were sprawled out over his linen couch, one leg hooked over the armrest and the other resting on his shoulder. lips moves vigorously against your folds, while his tongues delves in and out of your dripping hole. the sizzling coil that's been winding in the base of your stomach suddenly gone stiff, ready to snap at any moment.

his merciless fingers pinch and pull at your clit, as his tongue continues to plough in and out of you, rhythm only ever wavering to lap up the juices covering your folds. that is, until the coil breaks and you come undone right against his face. your walls convulse around him and a breathy moan is pulled from you. hot liquid surges out of your pussy in squirts with each thrust of sakusa's tongue, as he fucks you through your high.

once you settle down, he finally pulls away for air. with your fluid dripping down his chin, drenching his shirt and the wooden floor beneath. slowly standing up, sakusa looks at the floor with a grimace, "clean this up."

♡ USHIJIMA

whether ushijima can cook or not is down to personal preference, but he is independant enough to know how to cook meals that are vital to a hearty and healthy diet, such as boiled eggs, oats, beef stew etc. yes his dishes may be lacking in any flavour or delectability but it's nutritious and that's what matters.

but once he is a pro volleyball player and travelling constantly, he doesn't have the time to meal prep for himself anymore and his paycheck grants him some disposable income, so what's the harm in hiring a chef?

however, once you enter his life as his personal cook, you become a luxury he can no longer live without. until now, ushijima wasn't aware eating was supposed to be enjoyable, he always viewed it as something he just at to do in order to get all his essential vitamins and minerals. who knew food could taste this good?

it was an extra benefit that you looked so good while making it, too. neither of you would ever admit it but there was always a heavy atmosphere of sexuality when you were around each other. ushijima was undoubtably stoic so his tells were subtle, but you took notice of the lingering eye-contact; how his hand would always brush past your ass when he'd walk by you in the kitchen; the way he'd stand so close to you in coversation.

it was only a matter of time before the boiling tension between you two erupted.

you sat on the kitchen counter with your legs wrapped around his torso as his big cock drilled into you. your arms were over his shoulders, nails digging into his back with your eyes sewn shut. he's a mammoth; the biggest you've ever taken. every time he pushed into you, it was as though you were going to split in half.

he could tell you were struggling, so he slipped a hand under your ass and pulled you towards him in order to whisper in your year, but during the process he ended up forcing his dick even deeper inside you, resulting in a mewl from you. he leaned down and grunted, "take it."

something about your trembling form, so delicate and supple, hardly able to fit him inside you, it drove him mad. so eager finish himself off, he picks up you up by the ass so you are hovering a couple inches off the counter, and takes full control of your movement. pressing you against his dick per his whim and matching your movements to his brutal pace.

your only response to this is a chorus of profanities, and piercing the flesh of his back with your nails. he's delighted, though, at how your pleading pussy swallows him so nicely, despite its initial protests.

[consultingfujoshi]

some thoughts wrt the two established "romances" in severance so far (burt/irving and helly/mark) inspired by @figmentof who pointed out how irving had to find out mark and helly kissed from the corporate video in s2 e1 and how he must have felt seeing his co-workers' love affair like portrayed like that, and how it ties into the queer narrative at play here which uses workplace dynamics and policies as very clear analogues for real-life prejudice against queer couples. I mean, just look at this:

it's not just documented, but celebrated. used as propaganda for how the conditions on the severance floor have improved. proof that the severed workers are happy. and how even though he is unaware of the sociopolitical meaning of all this, lumon is very not-subtly telling him that what he had with burt is inherently lower and less valuable than this.

irving doesn't even know homophobia exists and yet he is still affected by it, it still seeps into every corner of the way his and burt's romance progresses. burt is positioned as an unacceptable love interest from the jump. irv is actively discouraged at every turn from pursuing it. their friendship is viewed with disgust and apprehension from their coworkers. burt working in a different department that's hated by MDR. dylan himself not being homophobic in the sense he opposes their relationship because they're both men but his attempts to keep them apart still has a parallel sort of prejudice behind it and still ultimately has the same effect as if it WERE driven by homophobia. irving is made to feel perverse for wanting contact with burt. he's told this is for his own good.

and then, just as they manage to overcome that immediate resistance from their peers and escape to a place where they can explore this blossoming romance on their own terms, burt retires. for all it matters to irv, he's dead. and then irving is given the option to live the rest of his life with grief that will never heal, or kill himself too, because there is no reality where they get to be together. that's just the way things are. of course they wouldn't get to be together. he was unreasonable and childish for ever hoping that could happen. this is just the way it goes for innies. he's told to get ahold of himself and not make a scene.

but the thing is, the standards are not the same for all. a heterosexual romance gets upheld as the shining example of success and fulfilment for the severed employees, whilst a homosexual romance is ridiculed and invalidated, and written off as something that was simply never meant to be. and even more importantly to irving, a heterosexual romance is APPROVED OF by lumon, and by extension, by kier. irv held back from allowing himself to even call his and burt's relationship a romance, because his god had told him it was wrong, he followed the handbook, thinking this was what kier wanted, and then finding out after suffering the worst heartbreak imaginable because of it, that this WASN'T EVEN TRUE. it's simply just that someone like HIM doesn't get to have something like this. his love is not the kind of love god wants. he does not approve of irv's love. cynical and manipulative though that approval may be (even within the context of the corporate video, the helly/mark romance is only being celebrated to further the narrative that lumon care for their workers, but the point still remains that it was THEIR romance specifically used to suit this end), when your entire life has been in pursuit of that approval, it must be devastating to learn it was never on the cards for you.

he and burt even used the fact kier met and fell in love with his wife in the same circumstances as them to justify this to each other - and they were RIGHT, god does approve of falling in love with your coworkers - this simply just doesn't apply to them specifically. and if irving needed any more proof that he no longer has a place at lumon, that he's better off not existing at all than existing with this pain that cannot be remedied, pain that won't even be acknowledged for what it is, a symptom of a sickness which plagues the entire severance system, pain that he is simply expected to choke down and get over - this is that proof.

and that's the POINT. they're TELLING us that this is unjust, and there's a double standard. they're using the ways the innies experience romance and the difference in lumon's reaction (lumon being the collective of all the management we've seen, lumon as a singular entity) to burt/irving vs helly/mark to comment on how queer people are not afforded the same level of respect or validation IN REAL LIFE, for their attachments, their love, their pain, their suffering. it is NOT just incidental that irving's romance is with a man. it would not WORK if his love interest was a woman. the POINT is that they are both men and how that puts them at a disadvantage, even if they aren't aware of the prejudices of the outside world, even if they don't TECHNICALLY apply on the severance floor, there are very clear analogues which still end up oppressing them in equivalent ways that they would be suffering if this were a normal workplace in the outside world.

it genuinely sickens me to my stomach that even in a world so divorced from reality and the sensibilities of regular society, a queer couple is still made to suffer and feel inferior in a way that perfectly mirrors their real-life counterparts. how they will never, EVER be allowed to exist in a world where their love could thrive freely and uninhibited - they never get to taste the joy our world has to offer people like them, but they are still somehow subjected to all the pain it has to offer them regardless. it's such horrifically devastating writing. it makes my skin crawl. I can't stop thinking about it