#and if I am honest it's not a question of IF I will have to leave early but WHEN | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

iamasaddie · 23 hours ago

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AN HONEST MISTAKE

Joel Miller x f!reader

summary: swiping left and right on tinder, you think you match with Joel Miller, a handsome single dad in his late 30s. Feeling enamored and horny you decide to meet in person, only to be met with an almost completely different person. warnings: darkfic, dub-con eliments due to alcohol intoxication, gaslighting, very big age gap [Joel is 61], switching POVs, explicit sexual content. Some tags are not added to avoid spoilers, dm me if you need the full list. reader description: afab she/her, has hair long enough to be pulled; has boobs and ass; reader mid to late 20s-early 30s. word count: 6,2k

a/n: thank you for all of the excitement and interest you'd shown to this idea, i have been working on it for some time and i'm finally happy to show you part one. huge thanks to @arcanefox207 , Ally helped me to polish this chapter and shown me a lot of support which i truly appreciate <3 READ ON AO3

MASTERLIST | part 2

Dating wasn’t fun. It always felt like an inescapable chore for you, and you tried to avoid it at all costs. Hiding your face in your morning cup of tea when attacked by your mom’s questions, her voice distorted by poor video connection. Joking only to avoid the topic of boyfriends and girlfriends when your friend kept nagging you about it. Losing yourself in an unsatisfactory myriad of hands that belonged to faceless people when the nights got too cold for empty sheets.

You looked at your table, a small hand-made sign read “do better” in your own handwriting. And that was exactly what you were going to do. You were going to kill not two, but three birds with one stone, and that stone was going to be going on a date. A real, proper date, with excruciatingly predictable questions and awkward first touches. And you were going to have fun.

On the fourth hour of swiping Tinder, you were a breath away from ghosting everyone you knew and hiding in the Peruvian Amazonia for the rest of your life. The few conversations that you managed to have quickly died out when the person you talked to learned what you were there for. A month ago you’d find a pretty face and invite them over to smoke and have some fun, but that wasn’t a great start for an actual relationship. No, your fuckgirl days were over, so you went back to swiping.

And that was when you saw him.

Joel M., 39 Southern gentleman with a beautiful daughter. Work in construction, so I can build you a house. I am looking for a real connection, please, respect that.

God, he was handsome. Your mouth started salivating as you swiped through his pictures. He was broad, tall and had a tool in his hand. Not the one you immediately started wondering about, but it looked like at least he didn’t lie in his description. Feeling like a complete creep, you screenshotted his profile. If you weren’t a match, at least you’d have someone pretty to think about before going to bed tonight.

Gently, as if afraid, you swiped right. Your screen lit up, and so did your face, you gave a wide grin to your phone. “It’s a match!”

He was too good to be true. A gentleman, he didn’t lie there. Joel gave you the exact amount of attention to make you run towards your phone whenever it rang. It was definitely nothing like you expected. He was attentive, remembering what you said and when, never shied away from your questions, and on top of that he was devastatingly hot.

You heard a blip of a new message and unlocked your phone, a smile already plastered on your face like a Pavlovian reaction.

[Joel M.]: I was thinking, we seem to have a nice connection here, don’t we? [You]: I think so, too. A little unbelievable, but I am feeling hopeful. [Joel M.]: Unbelievable how?[You]: Unbelievable that no one snatched you up earlier. From where I am sitting, you look like a full package. [Joel M.]: Well, you’re sitting awfully far away, so I see how it looks like that. Why don’t we meet in person and find out if you still think the same, darlin? [You]: Joel, are you inviting me on a date? [Joel M.]: Only if you’re accepting. How about a dinner at my place? I am a pretty decent cook.

Your hand hovered above the screen. It wasn’t smart, going to a man’s place for your first date. He could be a creep, he could be a murderer… But then again, you could never brag about your self preservation instincts, sometimes you just thought with a little kitty purring between your legs.

You tapped on his profile again, looking at the zoomed in picture of his face. His brown eyes looked sad, but kind. A half-smile tugged on his soft-looking lips. Just a few sprinkles of salt and pepper in his hair. Even if he turned out to be a creep, you’d never had such a handsome lay before, and you were planning to check all of his tools as soon as you could, you thought to yourself before typing your reply.

[You]: I’d love that. Send me the address?

You weren’t worried, not really. You never struggled with too low of self-esteem. You knew your strong suits, and you wore them like armor. The upcoming date sent a pleasant shiver down your back, anticipation made you giggle into the void of your lonely apartment. The closer the day came, the giddier you became.

So on the fateful night you had enough confidence to pick out the dress that was a bit uncomfortable but looked gorgeous on your body. You smacked some lipstick that complemented the shade of your skin, grabbed a small purse and a bottle of wine and winked at your reflection in the mirror. You looked good, you felt even better.

August kept tricking you with its weather, the days still suffocated you with heat while the nights were unpleasantly chilly. You hugged your naked shoulders and rubbed your skin in an attempt to warm up as you waited for your Uber to arrive.

You got inside the white Honda Civic, the smell of cigarettes unpleasantly soaked into the seats so you opened up the window praying that it wouldn’t stink up your dress. The driver acknowledged you with a small grunt and a nod, you did the same, not willing to start a conversation. The estimated forty minutes dragged out and became an hour in the man’s GPS, of course you got stuck in traffic it was just your luck. And on your way to a literal dream man, no less.

Your kitten heel kept tapping on the car floor, the annoyed-looking driver gave you a stern look in the rear view mirror that you completely ignored. You needed to warn Joel that you were going to be late, and it made you want to grind your teeth. You hated being late, be that a party, a dentist appointment or a walk in the park with a friend. It made you feel guilty, leaving your palms sticky with cold sweat. You clearly weren’t going to make a good first impression, and with the way you chewed your lip bloody, you might not even get a kiss. You looked at the picture of him you shamelessly saved to your camera roll. Out of the two of you, you were definitely winning the creep competition, while he was just a dream come true.

You zoomed in on his face, your thumb caressed the pixels of his skin. There were smile lines around his lips, and you wondered what made him laugh so hard throughout his life that the remnants of the gesture permanently cut themself into his skin. Joel’s eyes were gleaming with youthful mischief, something you’d thought a person loses after having a child, but he clearly proved you wrong. Sun made his brown look like amber, adding to the overall handsomeness of the man. You imagined yourself next to him – yes, it was way too early, but you couldn’t keep your mind from wandering – he’d be taller, bigger than you, his strong hand on your lower back as you walk through the city. The eyes of men and women hungry to have what’s yours, but he’d only look at you. Yes, he was a bit older, but still young enough to have you on his arm without dealing with accusatory stares and venomous whispers behind your back.

A loud honking from the car behind you made you jump in your seat. The line of cars finally started moving and it brought a sense of relief to you. You had 20 more minutes, maybe you were still going to make it.

The sound of your heels kissing the pavement echoed like gunfire through the neighborhood. When your taxi left you at the needed address, you looked around. It wasn’t too late, the small houses still looked alive with yellow lights and muffled voices. You took a deep breath, straightened your back and looked in front of yourself, examining the location.

From the outside, Joel’s house looked nice. Nothing too fancy, the white paint a bit chapped, but the porch looked recently freshened up. A sturdy looking rocking chair covered with a blanket and a pillow gave the place a cozy feeling. His lawn was perfectly trimmed, and you imagined watching him mow it from that same porch with an iced tea in your hand. He’d be sweaty and shirtless, you’d drag him inside to fuck before he finished even a third of the territory. You clenched your thighs, a small pool of wetness gathering in your thongs. You better keep that thought away or you’d jump the poor man’s bones before he had the chance to say hello.

You checked your phone, 8:27 PM. Not too late, even acceptable in some countries, you tried to cheer yourself on. You hoped he wasn’t as insane about being late as you were or here went your first date in years. Gently, you tapped on the wooden door, the sound of someone approaching from the other side made you squeeze the bottle neck harder.

When the door flew open, you stretched out the hand holding the wine and fired out an apology in the most comical way you could, your eyes tightly shut.

“I’m so sorry I’m late, the traffic was horrendous. I promise I am usually never late, ever.” When no reply followed, you opened your eyes, a smile still tugging on your lips as you took in the man in front of you. It was both Joel and not. With your hand still outstretched, your mouth dropped with a hundred different questions, but you only managed to ask one. “Joel?”

“Hello, darlin’.”

“Is this some kind of a joke? Are you his dad or something?”

The man in front of you was not in his late thirties, hell, he wasn’t even in his late forties! The Joel that was staring at you looked pretty old, mid-fifties at least, you thought to yourself. His hair was mostly salt, no pepper in sight. It was inches longer than in the picture, soft-looking, it curled at the bottom. He was as tall and broad as you imagined, and it did give a little pang to your core that you quickly shut off. His face was ridden in wrinkles, prominent crows feet near his eyes that were still sad, still brown. You had half a thought to turn around and order yourself an Uber home, but the bewildered look on his face made you stop where you were.

“Darlin’, I know what’s going through your head right now, because I promise I didn’t expect you to be this young either! It must’ve been Sarah, my baby girl. She set up this thing, said she was tired of seeing her old man sad an’ miserable. Guess she didn’t think I was mighty attractive anymore.” He says with a self-deprecating chuckle. “She just straight up told me today that a nice woman would come over for a dinner, said she’d be here too, and if I loved her I had better prepared my nicest shirt an’ all. Christ, what was that girl thinking?”

You caught yourself feeling bad for the man, your heart clenching. He was still definitely handsome. His stomach was slightly more prominent and his was shirt hugging him tightly in the middle. His hand that tucked a little white strand of hair behind his ear matched his face in little sun spots, skin that had been kissed by the burning star for longer than you’d been alive. But he still got it, in a silver fox kind of way. Poor man, put into such an embarrassing situation by his own daughter. Being willingly childfree had never looked more appealing to you.

“You came all the way here just to be disappointed, I can’t tell you how-“

“I’m not disappointed,” you interrupted him quickly and stepped forward, an unknown force drove your hand to squeeze his forearm in a reassuring gesture. His eyes dropped when your manicured nails dug into his ironed flannel. “Just surprised, but that’s not a bad thing. We both unknowingly catfished each other.”

“Catfish? Ain’t that a type of fish?”

“No,” you laughed lightheartedly, the man was adorable. The cold breeze picked up, and you were reminded that you were still on the porch, if any neighbors were out they were definitely getting a fresh batch of gossip to discuss before sleep. “It’s when you… You know what, no matter, it’s not important.”

Joel looked hesitant, his jaw ticked and you noticed him look you up and down before swallowing hard. Was he blushing?

“I want to make it up to you before you go. I made us a nice dinner when I thought you were umm… age appropriate,” Joel tightened his lips and gave you an apologetic smile. “It ain’t catfish, just a steak, but I swear on my mama, it’s good.”

Before you could respond, your stomach growled making the decision for you. Your hand jumped to it, fisting the material of your dress as if trying to silence the embarrassing sound.

“Well, I don’t see any harm in that,” you smiled, accepting Joel’s invitation. The man looked harmless and you didn’t want to leave him sad and miserable, it seemed like he felt guilty enough. “It was quite a long drive.” Maybe it all could become a funny story you both would tell your friends. Separately.

He stepped aside and you waltzed inside his house. It was big enough to still be cozy without making you feel trapped. The warm light made everything look safe and homey, hardwood floor creaked gently under your footsteps. The door lock clicked behind you and you turned around.

Joel was looking at you, a more confident smile now stretching his lips. The soft lighting took a few years off his face, and once again you noted that the man aged like a fine wine. That reminded you of the bottle you were still tightly gripping in your hand, and you stretched it out to Joel for the second time that night. He accepted with a muttered ‘thank you’.

“Feel at home, sweetheart, I’ll just grab something real quick.” Joel pointed towards his kitchen, the space was open, luring you in with a mouth-watering smell.

You felt awkward walking around a stranger’s house, but followed his instructions.

You didn’t see the way his eyes lingered on the exposed skin of the back of your thighs, his tongue flicking over his lower lip in anticipation.

He disappeared further into the hallway, and you made your way towards the dining table.

Alone, you took the opportunity to study the place you were allowed in. Unfortunately, it wasn’t very unique, or maybe you were just a shitty detective. Joel’s kitchen that spilled out into a dining room was disappointingly ordinary. Walls painted a soft yellow; polished doors of wooden cupboards and kitchen cabinets that looked old but taken care of; a four-person dining table that was now set with a few plates, simple utensils, napkins and wine glasses. You narrowed your eyes trying to see the pictures that were stuck to the fridge with small butterfly magnets. Your long ride and empty stomach must’ve taken a toll on your eyesight so you could barely make out Joel in those. There was a picture of him with another man, and… You leaned over the table as if trying to get closer, to see better.

“You know, you can just come closer to the fridge.” Joel’s chuckle made you jump in your seat.

“Sorry, I was just,” the right explanation failed you, and you surrendered. “I was just being nosy.”

“Didn’t catch you going through my drawers, so no harm. Can’t really snoop if it’s out there to see, right?” Joel set the opened bottle of the wine you’d brought on the table and waved a bottle opener in his right hand. “Haven’t had wine in some time so had to go look for this guy,” he explained.

“Whatever you made, it smells delicious,” you smiled at him. The sucking feeling in your stomach became uncomfortable, and you cursed at yourself internally for skipping lunch.

“Well then, let’s get some of it in you, shall we?”

Joel seemed way more relaxed, maybe your agreement to spend time with him made him feel less guilty for his daughter’s actions; or maybe it was the confidence of being a host. Either way, it looked good on him.

You didn’t stop your eye from wandering over his frame while he looked away, putting food on your plates. His dark green shirt was snug around his broad shoulders, the soft-looking material translated the feeling of warmth and comfort you lacked in your dress. He had blue jeans on, and you felt your cheeks heat up when you noticed a firm ass hidden behind the rough fabric. Your hand left the table, and you tugged at your bottom lip absent-mindlessly. What was twenty more years? He turned around and since your eyes hadn't moved, you were now shamelessly staring at his crotch. The jeans did not hide much.

You snapped your face up immediately at Joel’s quiet cough. There was a barely hidden smirk on his face, so you decided that no harm was done. So what if you gave the man a quiet compliment? You’d been doing that for the last two weeks, even though apparently his daughter was the one responding to them. You could spare some flirting for the poor guy, he looked like he enjoyed a bit of your harmless attention.

He didn’t lie, he was a decent cook. The meat melted on your tongue and the wine you brought complimented it nicely. You didn’t notice the way your glass was always full, Joel’s stories from the past kept you too entranced.

Heat was creeping up your chest, settling in your cheeks and you moved the wine glass away. You could tolerate a full bottle without being visibly affected, not your proudest trick but it was what it was. Yet, now you felt like you’d emptied at least a couple of bottles on an empty stomach, even though the bottle on the table proved otherwise. You felt dizzy, but not in a bad way, just more relaxed than you were planning to be. Joel looked more handsome every minute, his syrupy thick voice lulled you into a trance-like headspace.

“Can’t lie, you look mighty pretty, darlin’. Had I been thirty years younger it’d be hard to keep my hands to myself.”

Wine dimmed your instincts, so you just giggled. Joel’s eyes darkened as he tripped his gaze from your face to your bust, your breasts straining against the silk fabric of your dress. You noticed him looking and cleared your throat, tits jiggling slightly.

“Forgive an old man, sweetheart?” There was nothing sorry about his tone, but it slipped your mind completely, your guard almost all the way down. “As I said, haven't had a pretty thing like you here in ages.”

You tried to study his face, your brain foggy as you struggled to figure him out. “You compliment like a man deep in the dating pool,” you smirked, “makes it hard to believe it’s all an accident. Maybe you actually lured me in here

intentionally?” You raised your eyebrows, but couldn’t handle your own silly accusation, breaking down in giggles.

“Don’t worry, darlin’, this old dog is all bark no bite.” His smile looked sincere, kind laughter leaving his wet lips and he gave you a wink.

“You’re not that old,” your voice dragged the words out like you wanted to convince yourself more than him. You felt hot all over and you weren’t sure if it was the result of the wine you drank.

“You’re too kind, sweetheart, no need to spare my feelings. My prime is long behind the horizon.”

“No, you’re actually very handsome,” you didn’t lie, anyone with a good working set of eyes would see his attractiveness, and you had two weeks to cement it in your brain. “You have a very nice smile, and your hands,” your eyes dropped on the table where a giant fist was curled around his fork. “A lot of women appreciate a good set of hands.”

“Learned to work with them pretty well, too.” Joel nodded and smirked. “Leaking faucets, clogged drainage. Can fix it all.”

In your mind that phrase sounded naughtier than you were sure the man intended it to, and you reprimanded yourself, feeling a different kind of heat rise from your belly. With one swift movement you’ve emptied what was left in your glass of wine, forgetting about your need to somehow get home after dinner. Joel only poured some more in your glass, smiling softly.

He learned the dance moves long ago. Pretty birds like you were comfortably predictable, and even though you oozed a different kind of odor, he knew exactly what to say. He watched you sip your wine with ease, his own glass barely touched on the table.

When the last piece of salad was cleaned off your plate, you felt a pleasant fullness in your belly. Your head was heavy in a sleepy kind of way, and you looked around, trying to find something to hold your attention on. Your eyes skimmed the living room, from where you were sitting you could see an old couch, in some spots it was now more beige than brown, its big cushions looked soft and the blue quilt draped over the back of it was calling your name.

There was a guitar leaning against one of the armrests and you moved your eyes back at Joel who was silently studying you.

“You play that?” You blindly pointed your thumb towards the strategically placed instrument and Joel curtly nodded.

“I pluck the strings, sometimes something bearable comes out.” He joked, the apples of his cheeks saturated with color and you reached your hand to take his

and gently squeezed it. Joel’s skin turned out to be warm and dry, the sensation of giving him such an innocent touch tingled on your fingertips.

“I noticed you tend to undersell yourself. Would you play something for me?” You didn’t want to leave yet, and your empty plate didn’t really leave you a reason to stay. You tilted your head to the right and gave Joel a sweet smile, hoping he’d succumb to your charm. He didn’t wait long before returning the soft gesture. Slowly, he got off his seat. His figure loomed above you for a quiet moment before he outstretched his palm.

“I’d never be able to refuse you,” he admitted. Your hand drowned in his and he tugged you up. You almost crushed into his broad chest, but to your own dismay he took a step back. Your insides throbbed, the smell of his cologne mixed with his own odor awoke every single receptor on your skin.

“Do you like old stuff?”

“I’m still here,” you quipped and shrugged your shoulders innocently. Joel stopped, making sure you saw him roll his eyes in fake annoyance. He couldn’t contain the breathy laugh, though, so you knew he got your joke.

You moved towards the couch, while Joel walked a step behind you, enjoying the view of your ass in a skin tight dress. The outline of your thongs was visible to him, and he smiled to himself, maybe you weren’t as innocent as you pretended to be. Joel bit the inside of his cheek to refrain from any comments.

His hand hugged the neck of the guitar confidently, while you made yourself comfortable on the couch.

“I think I know just the thing.”

Your eyes never left his fingers as he started to hum an unfamiliar melody.

His voice lulled you in, deep vibrations as he plucked the strings reverberated in your chest. You felt so warm inside, the heat that was pooling in the depth of your belly rose and touched your chest, neck, the tips of your fingers. The dress clung to your skin unpleasantly and for a moment you wished you could take it off. Was it so wrong?

Your eyes traced Joel’s face, the sharp angle of his nose, the tip of it twitching as he sang gently. His lips caressed the words with a tenderness of a lover and you wondered when was the last time they did the same to a woman. Your thighs tightened as your body already knew something your mind only danced around. You shifted in your seat, moving closer to Joel, letting your knees touch.His eyes found yours, a question burning in his browns. You shrugged your shoulders and gave him a small smile, he smiled back. The melody continued, his warm timbre embracing the words.

Maybe tomorrow, honey, Some place down the line, I’ll wake up older So much older, mama, I’ll wake up older, and I’ll just stop all my trying

Your fingers drew patterns on your dress, nails picking at the seam with nervousness. The fire in the center of you gave you confidence to follow through, and your hand ended up on Joel’s knee, slowly moving up until your pinky touched the wood of his guitar. The melody didn’t falter, but his voice did.

“Whatcha doin’, sweetheart?”

“It is a date, isn’t it?” The shreds of your confidence only allowed you to squeeze his thigh with a hint, yet your eyes looked anywhere but his face.

“You shouldn’t do something like that to an old man like me, will break my heart when you leave,” he sounded so painfully sad, it made your heart ache as bad as your pussy. You looked him in the eye then, god, he was so handsome.

“What if I don’t leave?” You challenged him like a mouse challenging a lion. Joel shook his head, his hand gripping the guitar’s neck viciously.

“Stop playing with me, darlin’.”

“What if I’m not playing?”

You expected another sad plea, another crack in his voice. But instead, he put his guitar to the side and spread his legs wider than before. “Then prove it.” He husked out. “Prove that you know what you’re doing.”

There was no mistake in what he meant. His voice added a new depth into it, eyes glowed with something dark. Passion, you thought. Need. The one that was pushing you to your knees at that same moment. The one that numbed your skin when your bones hit the hardwood floor between his spread thighs. The one that guided your hands to his zipper before you could even steal a kiss off his tantalizing lips.

He was hot underneath his clothes, his skin was burning like he had a fever and you were almost too impatient to be gentle. Joel lifted his hips just enough to help you tug his jeans down, his grey cotton boxers followed. He watched you intently, and you watched his half-hard cock lay heavily on his full balls. They were hanging low, their size intimidating. But no more intimidating than the main course.

You weren’t offended that he wasn’t fully hard yet, still, Joel took you by the chin and made you look at him. “Sorry, darlin’, you’re the prettiest girl I’ve seen in a long time, but at my age, it’s just not enough anymore.”

You nodded, your mouth flooding with saliva at the thought of him growing under your tongue. He was thick, veiny, more veiny than the dicks you’d seen

before so you thought it was an age thing, however the vines surrounding his shaft only made you whimper harder, thighs squelching with your arousal.

You leaned forward, inhaling full lungs of him. It was heady, strong, and made you dizzier than all the wine you drank. You reached your hand out with the intent of touching his cock, but Joel stopped you.

“Touch yourself.” For the first time you heard something dark in his melody. Commanding.

“What?” You were confused. Did he want you to just play with yourself? Because you were on the verge of bursting if he didn’t let you get closer to his cock.

“Put your little hand in your panties and slick it up with all the sweet juices that have been leaking out of you since the moment you saw me, darlin’.” Your mouth fell open, hand following his order under Joel’s dominant gaze. “Then you can wrap it around my dick, and prove to me that you really want this.”

It was so easy to just do what he said, without questioning the moral, the consequences. Your hand was wet with your arousal, pussy begging to keep it

there, to give some attention to your clit, but your mind was set on the man before you.

He hissed when you wrapped your slick hand around his shaft and started jerking it slowly, feeling the girth of him thrum with growing desire. You looked at his cock, entranced. His shaft was shining with your own juices, a pink head became deeper in color as more blood rushed to his cock. You swiped your thumb over it, a tiny drop of precum glistening in his slit.

“You’re doin’ such a good job, angel.” Joel’s hoarse voice was almost a whisper. You felt the steam coming from him, it made you sweat, your breath hitching. “Why don’t you put that mouth to use, hm, darlin’? You speak awful lot with it.”

It almost made you giggle, a plan forming in your head. Instead of letting his cock in the scorching wetness of your mouth, your head dropped lower. You

stuck your tongue out, lathering his heavy balls in your saliva. They were fuzzy, like a ripe peach, and you massaged them with the wet muscle.

“Fuck, ain’t nothing angelic about you, huh?” Joel’s voice was barely recognizable, hungry and low it vibrated in your pussy. You opened your mouth wider, sucking his balls in turn. “That’s right, making me feel so good, sucking on my balls like that. Come on, baby, use your tongue.”

You tried to alternate between licking and sucking on his ballsack, your spit drooling over your chin while you were panting like a rabid dog. The only thing that mocked your ladylikeness was your goddamn dress, and it was almost drenched in your own slick at this point.

“Good girl, sucking on my balls like it’s what you came here for. Came here to make an old man cum? What a perverted little girl you are, sweetheart.” Your pussy tingled with your praise. The mouth on him made your head spin, like a newfound drug that affected only you he seeped under your skin making you pant and moan as you continued pleasuring him. Your hand jerked his thick cock in tandem with your mouth on his balls. Joel’s eyes never left you, as he continued praising you. “Mmhm, that’s good, drench ‘em, fuck you’re a dirty one.”

You felt his hand at the back of your head as it pressed you harder into him, your nose was forced into his perineum and he almost humped your face with his groin. Your tongue hung out, and he managed to slide his balls across it before it almost went too low. The tip of your tongue almost touching his puckered hole covered in more hair.

“Not today,” you heard him grumble before tugging you up. “Come on, darlin’, don’t make me waste a load.” He pushed on your cheeks with his hand, feeding you his cock in one movement. It was a lot to take, your teeth barely scraping his shaft, and you used your tongue to protect the underside. “Take it all, come on, darlin’, you’re the one who wanted it.”

Intoxication and arousal didn’t mix well, as you just moaned pathetically around him, letting him deeper in your throat. It bulged with the sheer size of his dick, you felt it, uncomfortable, but you couldn’t move, your body too heavy and tired. Instead, your hands found his wet balls, already tight and ready to blow every drop of cum he’d been saving for you. You tried to fit them in your hand, gently tugging at his sack to stimulate him further.

“Ready, sweetheart? I better not see you waste a drop.” His hips bucked, and your nose was pressed into the soft tuft of his grey pubes. Joel pressed your head into him harder as his hot load trickled down your throat. You tried to breathe through your nose, the lack of oxygen blackening your vision.

He pulled out seconds before you were ready to pass out.

“Gotta tap my leg or somethin’, sugar. I don’t need you dying with my cock still in your throat.” You chuckled, not sure why. Joel placed his hand on your cheek, his thumb tracing your lower lip, slippery with your saliva. His whisper sounded gentle, “God, you’re a mess. Beautiful.”

You didn’t trust your throat to work, so instead, you tried to get up on your trembling legs. Your pussy still screamed for release, so wet you could feel your arousal escaping your thongs and dripping down your leg. You hiked the skirt of your dress up, not an ounce of shame inside, and straddled Joel.

“Whoa, darlin’, slow down,” his hands dropped to your hips, keeping you in place. Your brows furrowed. He didn’t look like a man who’d let a lady down. “Why don’t we change our location?”

You didn’t get an opportunity to look around, your feet scrambling as he tugged you into a dark room. His pants were up, but undone, and you lost your heels somewhere along the way, your dress still hiked up like a common whore.

Everything was spinning, so when he dropped on the bed at first you thought he fell. His voice was navigating you through the darkness, but you could barely concentrate on it.

“Come here, angel, let this old man take care of your pretty pussy.” Joel smacked his lips, and guided you to climb on top of him, legs on each side of his body until your pussy hovered over his face.

“Panties,” you whimpered and heard an immediate crack of fabric ripping.

“Sorry, darlin’, can’t make you wait any longer,” his face pressed into the side of your thigh, sticky with your own juices, and you whimpered pathetically at the texture of his scruff scratching your sensitive skin. “Smell so good, fresh, like a new doll.”

You couldn’t understand what he meant, you didn’t even try to. When his lips latched onto your clit, your head tilted back and you let out a loud moan. Joel only moaned back, the sound penetrating your pussy alongside his tongue.

His hands gripped your asscheeks painfully, forcing you to grind on his face. His tongue slipped in your wet hole, and you felt yourself shaking on top of him, your legs giving out as he kept fucking you with his tongue.

Joel growled in your skin, making you crawl to your orgasm faster and faster with every swipe of his tongue.

The tip of his nose kept hitting your sensitive clit, as he pushed his tongue further and further in your fluttering hole. He kissed his way up, pinching your clit between his tightly clasped lips and sucked, punching a cry out of you with his raw vigor.

“Come on, sugar,” he commanded, “I feel her cryin’, give her what she wants.”

With doubled passion he flickered his tongue over your throbbing bud, and you felt sweat trickling down your neck and soaking into your dress as an orgasm rushed over you.

Your body felt powerless, and if not for Joel’s strong hands still holding you up, you’d have fallen back. But he kept you somewhat steady, lapping up all that your wasted body could give him until every swipe of his tongue started being painful and you had physically push his face away with trembling hands.

“Got too enthusiastic, my bad. Ain’t every day I get to drink from a fountain of youth.” Joel joked, helping you settle next to him in his bed.

Your tired body was half laying on top of him, fully drained yet still unexplainably insatiable. Forced by something deep in the pit of your belly, you dragged your nails over his soft stomach until you touched his soft cock again. Joel quickly stopped you, grabbing your wrist and bringing your hand to his chest. You felt the sparse hairs on his nipple tickle your palm. His heartbeat was hard, but steady.

“Sorry, angel, ain’t that young anymore.” He said, kissing the crown of your head. His fingers found their way into your hair and he tugged at it gently. “If you want me to fuck that pretty hole of yours, you’ll just have to agree to a second date.”

Your words were slurred, eyelids too heavy to keep them open. “Maybe I will, old man.”

He chuckled, the grip of his fingers in your hair tightened as he looked in the distance. A couple of flickering street lamps visible from his window were providing minimum light in his room and a possessive smile creeped onto his lips as he listened to you snoring lightly into his chest.

You weren't the first mouse to get trapped so easily, but something told him you were special. He wasn't ready to discard you just yet.

LEAVE A COMMENT, YOUR FEEDBACK IS MY MOTIVATION <3

#catfish!joel #iamasaddie fic #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #dark fic #ppcu fanfiction #tlou fic

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lowkeyerror · 2 days ago

Text

When Did You Stop Loving Me

Agatha Harkness x Reader

Word count: 4.9k

Notes: Requested, Angst, happy ending, established, physical violence (non-domestic), emotional constipation

Summary: When you married Agatha you knew that she loved you, but as time went on you became uncertain.

An: This was a request from ages ago hopefully I did it some justice.

Masterlist | Masterlist 2

She wasn’t coming.

It wasn’t something you questioned any more. It was simply the truth. Agatha was a woman who was used to self-preservation over everything. You knew that when you began pursuing her, but she’d always had a soft spot for you. A side of her that was unknown to anyone else that crossed her path. You were sure she loved you at some point. She wouldn’t have proposed otherwise.

You had to remind yourself of that often.

If you didn’t, you’d be consumed by an unrelenting sadness. She had been a lonely woman when you crossed paths. She had lost everything she held dear; her coven, her first love, her son. Then she found you. Someone unalike anyone she met before. You were so honest. Not innocent or gullible, but you held no malice or treachery in your heart.

She was the most charismatic woman you’d ever. She could sell snake oil to a fucking snake. Agatha was a charmer and easy on the eyes too. She was utterly bewitching.

You intrigued her, at least that’s what she said. You believed it before, but now it was hard for you to think of it as anything other than her loneliness calling out for companionship.

She was so warm at first. She’d reach out to hold your hand, tuck your hair back into place, she’d let her lips curl into a smile as she whispered against your ear. You wouldn’t have been able to pick out her sins just by seeing her interact with you.

Her actions never bothered you much. You relished in the fact she’d let you wash away her sins. Her wrongdoings were things you believed you could love away. If you kissed her scars enough, she would smile down at you. That’s how you knew they were healing. You healed her with a patience and tenderness that she had never known before.

Though every time you healed her it seemed like she’d have fresh scars within the next few days. You knew your wife had a thirst for power. Something from her youth that refused to be satiated no matter how many covens she drained.

You hypothesized that for every coven she killed, she wasn’t only taking their powers; she was taking in their darkness. It felt as though she was carrying their burdens, she was feeling their pain, she was bathing in their atrocities. No witch had clean hands. Some drowned in darkness, but they had all sipped from it’s chalice at least once.

Agatha was always cold after she had killed the witches. She wanted you nowhere near her. She didn’t want your judgement or your comfort. It felt like she didn’t want you in those moments. As her ledger grew, so did the coldness. So, you tried to stop waiting up for her.

Your conscience didn’t allow that. Agatha was capable of handling herself, but the circumstances were to unpredictable to allow you a peaceful rest knowing she wasn’t home.

So even though you knew she wasn’t coming tonight you sat still at the kitchen table. You were whittling down a piece of wood. Nothing artistic, just something to help pass the time.

When your wife staggers into your home, you simply turn your head to look at her. Her hair is wilder than usual, her breathing is shallow, and you could see bruises forming around her arms.

Your movements are slow as you rise from the table and walk over to her. Her body snaps towards you, defensive and on edge.

“Why are up right now?” The frustration in her tone is hard to miss.

“Waited for you,” your answer cautious on your tongue.

She scoffs,” You don’t think I can handle myself? I don’t need you waiting up for me.”

You shook your head, “It’s not just for you. I get peace of mind knowing that you’re here. That you’re safe Agatha.”

“Well, here I am. Are you at peace?”

Your eyes meet hers, looking for the woman you love too soften up for you. The way she used to when you first met. All you saw, all you felt, was a wall.

“Have you gone mute or are you going to answer me. I don’t have all night to stand here in pain.”

You feel your eyes begin to water. You refuse to break, unwilling to be faced with reality of her not caring about your tears.

“It’s morning,” is the only thing manage to say as you walk past her and into the bedroom.

Things only worsen from that point.

You believe that Agatha no longer cared about being lonely. The way she pulled away from you was proof enough. She hardly spoke to you and when she did, she couldn’t look at you. She wouldn’t touch you and when you tried to reach for her, you saw her entire body tense.

The distance wasn’t something you could write off anymore. It was impossible to ignore. Any time the witch left your home, you cried as if she’d never come back. You’d let yourself grieve. The woman you loved didn’t seem to love you anymore.

She had to hate you to put you through this kind of torture. She gave you her love and then ripped it away from slowly and painfully. You almost couldn’t comprehend looking directly at the person you loved but not seeing her at all.

The ring on your finger burned. You thought about taking it off and leaving Agatha. It would hurt, but there was a chance that it would feel better than this. You thought about it so much, but then you’d catch a glimpse of Agatha’s ring finger. Her band never moved from her finger; not when she went out, or ate, or showered. It’s the only thing that made you think that maybe she didn’t hate you.

Agatha could never hate you.

In fact, the only person she hated was herself. How could she have let this happen to your relationship? You were the one person she could say she cared for just as much as her Nicky. Just like she did with him, she was disappointing you. You were suffering because she was inept, because after all these years she’s still scared to love openly.

She tried to fight against the woman who taunted her in the mirror. The reflection that had to remind her that she was unlovable. It taunted her with images of her loved ones dying and others betraying her. Agatha could see the look on her mother’s face when she took her last breath/ When Agatha stole her last breath.

Nothing she loved panned out in her favor. She didn’t want that for you. You deserved better than that, better than her. Yet she let her selfish ways bleed into her relationship. She didn’t want to let you go, because even through this having you around gave her comfort. Looking at you broke her, because she could see just how much she was hurting you. But in the dead of the night sometimes she’d watch you sleep, sweep your loose hair away from your face, and kiss the top of your head. She’d cry then, wishing that she could do something right. She had to fix this or let you go. Sometimes she’d go out in hopes that you’d be gone when she came back.

You never were. She’d come home and find you whittling a piece of wood at the kitchen table each time. It gave her relief and filled her with guilt simultaneously.

“I’ll be back,” Agatha says to you.

It’s rare that she tells you before she goes.

You meet her eyes from your seat at the table, “Be safe.”

She goes to the door and then hesitates. She walks back over to where you are sitting. Before she second guesses herself she places a featherlight kiss in your forehead.

“I love you.”

Neither of you remember how long it’s been since those words have been said. Agatha looks like a wreck waiting to see if you’d be so kind to her.

“I love you too,” your voice is soft, but the conviction is still there.

Agatha feels like she can breathe for the first time in a long time. She doesn’t linger, opting to leave with the warmth of your words.

You watch as she leaves the home. Your heart thudding against your chest, startled by the woman’s action. A flicker of heat in the ice that blanketed your relationship.

It was too early to start whittling. Instead, you decide to clean around the house/ It was all very mundane until it wasn’t.

One second, you’re alone and the next you’re surrounded. Three witches form a circle around you. Demented smiles stretch across each of their faces.

“Looks like the hag actually does care about something,” the one in red speaks.

“What do you want from me?

They burst into laughter like you’ve told the joke of the century. With their heads thrown back and tears pooling at the corners of their eyes. You try to use the moment to your advantage, attempting to run out of the house.

Your sudden movement stopped as the one in blue grabbed a handful of your, slamming your back into the floor. You arch your back off the floor and hiss at the pain.

“You aren’t going anywhere dearie,” the blue capture informs you.

“Live bait is the best bait,” the third witch in black finally speaks up.

The one in red seems to be in charge. She crouches down to get level with you, “We’re going to wait for Agatha to come back. Then we’ll kill you in front of her just like she killed the members of our coven.”

“If we’re lucky, she’ll be so beside herself with grief, we’ll be able to kill her too,” the one in black adds on.

You sit up, locking eyes with the leader, “You might kill me, but you’ll never be able to kill her.”

The leader tilts her head and smiles sweetly at you before grabbing you by the jaw, “Tie her up and tape her mouth.”

Her hand is callous against your face. Her nails dig harshly into your skin, but you keep from squirming. You can tell these are the kind of people that get off on reactions, so you refuse to play into that.

The blue and black captures follow the red one’s instructions. They drag your chair from the kitchen before throwing you on to it without care. They start by tying your arms behind your back. Soon there’s a thick rope against your chest digging into your shirt, forcing you against the chair. The tie your legs last, putting each against one the chair legs. Finally, the stick the duct tape over your mouth, leaving you completely helpless.

“Anything else you wanted to say sweetheart?”

You glare at the trio, but they pay you no mind and start rummaging around your house. You sit there, jaw tense and eyes firm ahead. You guess that it makes sense that eventually Agatha’s actions would catch up to her. Yet she isn’t here to suffer like you are. It did surprise you that she hadn’t tied up these loose ends. Agatha never left any survivors, it was sloppy, and she was a perfectionist. You hoped she’d come home soon put there was a pit in your stomach telling you something else.

She wasn’t coming.

It had been three days. Your limbs ached, the lack of circulation causing them to turn colors. Your captures had been generous enough to allow you to use the restroom, but that was all. They’d tie you back up as soon as it was over. The tape on your lips felt as though it was a part of your body. The three witches have lost interest in your home, having turned it completely upside down. They had been looking for things to use against Agatha, but they came up unsuccessful in their search.

“How come the spell outside was so easy to break, but the one’s in here are so complicated?”

“Who cares, where is Agatha?”

You let out a small noise, it’s as close to laughter as you can get. They set their sights on you. The leader marches up to you ripping the tape right off of your face. It causes you to let out a yelp. The stinging sensation was strong enough to make your eyes well up.

“Did you have something to say?”

You start to laugh, tears streaming freely down your face, “She’s not coming back. I should’ve known by the way she left that she wouldn’t be coming back. I don’t know when she stopped loving me, but she did. Let’s just skip all of the bullshit and melodramatics, just kill me.”

You remember her lips against your forehead. The way she said she loved you before she left, never planning on returning. At least your last memory of her would be sweet. You were just happy that you got to remember her that way. Despite it all, you still love her.

Your words only seem to anger the witches. The leader loses her temper fairly quickly, striking you across the face. She backs away from you only for the other two to take her place. One of them starts striking you across the body, while the other lays into the side of your head. Your hands are tied you can’t defend yourself. All you can do is cry out as they beat you mercilessly.

Suddenly their attack stops. You pry your eyes open to see them frozen in their places. Their eyes move around, but nothing else.

Agatha stands tall in the room. When her eyes land on you, you can see her entire body begin shaking.

“This is what I get for showing you mercy? You come into my home and take my wife captive. You beat her and think you’d live another day?” Her voice cracks when she speaks.

You notice her own tears streaming down her face as she walks towards you. With a flick of her wrist, you’re free from the ropes. You attempt to stand, but you can’t. She’s by your side holding you up. You don’t protest as she scoops you up into her arms and carries you to the bedroom. With a gentleness that you had forgotten, she lays you on the bed.

The way Agatha looks at you breaks your heart, “I’ll only ne a second.”

She walks out of the bedroom and, true to her words, she’s back faster than you could imagine. Her eyes scan your entire body when she returns, assessing the damage.

“I didn’t think you were coming back.”

“I heard.” She pauses for a long moment, “I’ve never stopped loving you.”

Agatha is cautious as she approaches you. Her hand is outstretched towards your feet and it moves carefully in a motion up to your head. You could feel the ache in your limbs disappear; the pain you had felt from being beaten was also gone.

“I couldn’t tell,” you are honest.

Agatha sits on the edge of bed. Her hands are clasped tightly together. You watch as she struggles to find the words she wants to say. You place on of your hands on top of hers. She takes your hand in hers. Just soft and warm as you had remembered. She brings your hand up to her lips. Her tears hit your hand before her lips do.

She mumbles against your skin, “I’m so sorry.”

“You stopped letting me in. I couldn’t talk to you, I couldn’t touch you, you were pushing me so far away that I thought you didn’t want me anymore; that you’d rather be lonely,” you move so that you’re sitting next to her.

“I didn’t marry you because I was lonely. I married you because I love you, because I’ve never met anyone that can make me feel like you do. It’s terrifying to know how much I need you. Knowing that I could lose you scares the fuck out of me because there isn’t a reality where it isn’t my fault. You almost died today because of me. I would’ve cost you your life. I’m not scared of being alone, I’m scared that I don’t know how to be enough for you.”

Your thumb cascades over the top of her hand, “You’re stupid, do you know that?”

Agatha blinks, “Only because you tell me so often.”

“Agatha, I love you the way you are. There’s nothing else that I need. I just want you to stop shutting me out. Let me hold your hand, let me lay my head in your lap, and let me kiss your scars away.”

You lift her hand to your lips, kissing it.

“I’ll make it up to you, all this time. I don’t care how long it takes; I don’t ever want you to think I don’t love you again. You’re my better half, forever and always,” there’s determination in her eyes as they meet yours.

You let your gaze drop to her lips. Her hand cups your face and you’re both leaning in. When your lips touch, it feels like relief. Like a declaration of peace of a long war. Agatha finally surrenders her fears to you. You don’t run from them; you’d never run from her.

Things return become better than you ever remember them being. Agatha doesn’t pull away anymore, in fact she falls into you. She relishes in your care and you bask in her warmth.

#lowkeyerror #agatha x reader #agatha harkness imagine #agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness #lowkeyanswers #lowkeyrequest

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kanmom51 · 14 hours ago

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Those JM and JK being ‘subtle’ moments - Part 10

cr./to the owners of the media in this post.

Part 10 of maybe (?) more to come that is.

Or...

A page from JM and JK’s book of “How do we do the couple in the group without others noticing it (or so they thought)”.

Been a while eh? I guess I thought it was time for part 10.

At this point I'm not even sure if I'm repeating or not, but let's be honest here for a sec... who cares? Right?

Let's start with a couple of birthday posts. How about JK's for JM's in 2022? And again JK using that bro... yeah ok...

Then we have JM's post for JK's birthday 2023. Are they trying to outdo each other?

Just two bros hanging (keep telling yourselves that, lol).

As much as we've seen and heard since, back in September 2023 this was big, even more so in the context to follow end of 2023.

Not as big as this though:

Nothing as 'subtle' like a couple's gift (and joint congrats love message).

Moving on, or more so moving back, seeing this was back in July 2023.

JM can handle it.

tumblr

But then again, can he though?

our drool is showing JM...

Back to what JM can or can't handle... JK posting his back photo

Nothing suspicious about that though. Just a huge ass back and a necklace that JK apparently is not taking off even when working out. Funny how JK posted his bare back photo after JM was given a hard time by the regular haters for posting JK's bare back "without JK's permission" (the level of juvenile to even think that is a thing...).

So why, you may ask, is this finding it's way into this specific post?

Well, because of the post that directly followed JK's post.

Let's call it JM's spicy food post. The one JK so happily replied to as well.

And again, what's the big deal?

Well, there is no big deal, it's just a great intro into the next few Jikook not being so subtle moments.

Those two love it spicy...

And if we are already talking about this whole back and forth while JK was in NY, I guess I should also mention JM's favourite food: JK's Tteokbokki.

Not to mention JM letting us know his whereabouts the night before leaving for Jeju, JK returning from NY (second trip that month) only to cook for JM (Where he stayed the night and where we know JK didn't sleep all night)...

We wouldn't have known about it if JM hadn't told us. Let that sink in for a sec. All while thinking about all those other times they spent their days and/or nights together but didn't tell us about it (us hearing it months later).

Back to my old mantra just for a sec:

NOT SEEING THEM TOGETHER DOESN'T MEAN THEY AREN'T TOGETHER.

A mantra I feel like I won't have to repeat again in Chapter 3 post military service...

Yes, I sidetracked again. But then, what's new? You know me. At this point it's expect the expected, lol.

But...

If I already mentioned AYS, then it's only natural to continue with a few 'ever so 'subtle' moments we were blessed with in the show. Although, it's not the subtlety I'm really going for here...

Ok, I know what I said, but I am actually going to start with a moment that is on the subtle side. Subtle but so full of emotion. A moment that doesn't make you go 😮 but more so 🥹.

The whole train station and train ride is something special. Every single time I watch it I'm just sitting there with a huge ass smile on my face and that moment to culminate it all, when JK just sets his head on JM's shoulder is just such an AWW... moment.

When thinking about it, the entirety of Are you sure?! is one big Jikook being 'subtle' 'moment'. From start to end. Each trip had it's own special feel to it.

Connecticut was about a long needed time away together, all while trying to find a way to do their thing in a way that can be edited into a show, not to mention dealing with both JK and JM being sick.

Jeju being the second trip, the second time around, was easier for them to find that balance for the show, and having the unexpected guest emphasised even more just how different their interactions with each other were than either of them with Tae.

And Sapporo. Oh Sapporo. One last trip before enlistment. Following a private stay together in Tokyo. Same trip JK mentions at the end of episode 8. Sapporo is charged. It's happy and sweet and electric and melancholic and just everything. For all of us to see.

It's easier for me to link my AYS masterlist than trying to detail all the ahh and aww moments we got.

I just re-watched it all, again, and it's just really something else. To those who see them, so beautiful, so real, so raw. To those who haven't seen them yet, who haven't acknowledged what they mean to each other, what they are to each other, very revealing.

I came by this the other day:

youtube

What I would call regular army, anti shipper (has been very loud in the past, especially when it comes to TKK's behavior and delusions). And although she is super careful in not crossing that one line of stating "couple" and tends to go back to "friends" or "brothers" every single time she mentions something that is clearly MORE THAN... it's clear that she sees them. Their bond, their attachment, their love, their touches, their care, their safe space with each other. She is super careful not to say the words, but even so, at the very beginning while saying she's not interested in their romantic lives, and then she says: "all I want is for them to be happy and in whatever shape or form they decide to do that I will be supporting them". - A statement within itself!! Again, this tip toeing around what they truly are to each other (something that I can assure you would not be happening if the two were not 2 young men, but a heterosexual couple), continuously saying the words to describe exactly how special their relationship is, but then having to insert those safe words ("friends", "brothers") to play safe. What I can say is that army are seeing them!! What they tried to avoid for years and years was shoved in their faces, and they are seeing it, the brave ones even willing to admit it. What we saw for years, the way army clearly were ignoring JM and JK's bond (for many reason, first and utmost it being too obviously MORE than just two friends), is proving to be so much harder for them to do with AYS. And I think they are allowing themselves to be louder seeing that it's clear that JM and JK wanted us to see this, wanted to share this with us. Not that they haven't been for years, but it's much harder to avoid a full on 8 episode show showcasing their relationship.

Back to AYS.

As mentioned, there is just too much for me to share in one post. It is funny to me how hard they worked on making the show fit for PG.

But as PG as they tried to make it, there were definitely those moments that not only screamed "these two knock knees" - me trying to be demure today.

Nah, forget it...

They were just being outright GAY. No subtle to be found.

And why not mention some of them, you know, for the fun of it?

I still can't believe they left the bed scene from Connecticut in. As highly edited as it was.

We know they spent much more time in that bed, before JK ate and after JK ate. All either not filmed (JK switching camera on and off) or edited out. But what they left in, yeah, nothing subtle to be found there.

And what about JK telling JM to take his pants and underwear off at the restaurant?

Like what exactly for JK?

Would that be something you would say, even jokingly, to your mate? I don't think so.

JM's bf shot. Very "subtle" indeed.

Next couple of moments are just "what the actual fuck????" the most unsubtle that can be in the whole universe and beyond.

No, I really don't think I'm exaggerating.

I'll start with JK pulling JM's hair in the pool. Like, what the hell for? And in what world is that something friends joke about? Also, in what reality would a friend not only be cool about it, but also not flinch, not even a little, when his "friend" grabs him from the hair like that???? Even in the most playful mood that they might be in. You think Tae would be cool with it? Yeah-Nah!! 🤣🤣 Just visualising that...🤣🤣

I will tell you exactly when someone would be cool with it. When that "friend" is not only someone who you allow to pull your hair like that but also you are used to him pulling your hair like that. I will let you connect the dots from here on...

And what about this, eh?

Just sit there and picture the scene (which we obviously were not allowed to see in the show or the behinds... I wonder if there is footage of it hidden in a vault somewhere...). JM writing that on JK's chest. To be able to write that so clearly, unsmudged, straight lines, not runny...

So, here's the thing. It feels like that these two have taken subtle and chucked it out of the window.

I'm not sure where we are going exactly once they get out of the military, but it feels like we are striding in huge steps towards a new reality. One in which that little game they used to play with deniability, these boundaries they used to stretch and test the waters just how far they can move them and still have Army celebrating their heterosexuality, I feel like that game is over and done with. Idk, it's just a feeling that seems to be getting stronger with each step they have taken since they announced their joint enlistment.

Their joint enlistment, AYS, them showing up in each other's documentaries (however short of an appearance), the two shown together in the BTS documentary, their comments lately about each other, letting us know how close, how connected, how inseparable they are, even when they send congratulations to work associates. The hints. Like JK's eyes on that screen in JM's Who MV. The "Keep going" that is constantly associated with the two. The feeling is that there is something even bigger coming. And it's not only us Jikookers that are feeling it!!!

Idk about you guys, but I am super excited about what's waiting for us around the corner.

I think that part 10 of this series is a good place to end it. I know this one was more yap than anything else, but I guess that's what a final part of a series looks like, especially seeing that we are probably nearing a new reality with those two. An end of an era, so to speak. They are soon coming back to us and I'm feeling like we will have so much more to post about, speak about, subtle and very unsubtle moments. All of those are for a new series (hopefully).

29 days to go.

Less than a month guys!!!

#Jikook #kookmin #minkook #Jungji #Jimin #Jungkook #JK #JM #Jikook subtle moments #Youtube

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petrichoravis · 3 days ago

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So in love. | s.r.

masterlist | navigation | PART ONE

summery: you and Spencer finally talk over oranges and bandages.

word count: 3k

what to expect: ex!spencer reid x fem!bau!reader, mention of a bullet wound and wound water, fluff, angst?, hurt/comfort, reader has hair, this also accidentally turned into a little bit of a spencer character study? don’t know how that happened, spencelle implication because I love them!! slow moments and not much happening besides them trying to navigate their relationship. English is not my first language.

a/n: you asked, so I shall deliver!! ex!reader and spencer kissing and talking it out (totally did not consider making this super angsty and letting them stay broken up🙂‍↔️🙂‍↔️)

───── ⋆˚࿔

Something tickled Spencer’s nose. In the haze of being half asleep, he swatted it away.

A groan startled him awake completely.

When he opened his eyes and was met with your sleepy face, he realized that it had been your hair that woke him. The feeling of your head under his nose, a feeling he wasn’t used to anymore.

For a moment, he was in the blissful state of disremembrance. His body remembered the moment and filed it away as something familiar and safe.

Until it all came crashing down on him, like the rain knocking against the window—your window, your apartment. Your bed that he was in. The smell of you engulfed him and softened the punch of the memories coming back.

You and Spencer were broken up, had been for a while. You had coped with it through anger.

Then, slowly, everything that had happened yesterday came back. A bullet had grazed your arm. The thought made him sit up abruptly. The frown on your face told him that you had misread his worry as regret.

“How is your arm?” He asked gently.

Sitting up too, you replied, “Yeah, it’s okay. I don’t feel it anymore—in a good way.”

Your voice was still raspy from sleep. Spencer didn’t realise how much he had missed the sound of it. There was something about having you in the morning—before your brain was awake enough to put on a performance—that made him fall in love with you deeper every time he was blessed to experience it.

He reached out carefully, giving you space to pull back. “Can I look at it?”

When you didn’t pull back but gave him a hesitant nod, his fingertips grazed your arm carefully, unwrapping the bandage. His eyes flickered up to your face every few seconds to check that you were comfortable.

The fabric finally slipped from your arm to reveal the wound. “Does air feel good on it? Or is it uncomfortable?”

“It’s good.” You mumbled.

“Lov—” He stopped himself before the slip-up was fully formed. “Can you please be honest with me?”

The words made you flinch even though they were said softly, without any malice. Spencer thought he had an idea why.

(“Do you even still love me?”

Silence. Nothing but the ringing in your ears.

“Spencer, can you please be honest with me?”)

“I am. It does feel okay.” You sighed. A few hours ago, you would’ve snapped at him for questioning you, but the fight had left you, and anger finally gave way to hurt and exhaustion. “I’m being honest.”

(“No, you’re not, Spencer. I can tell.”

“I just don’t know if this is the right thing for us right now.”)

Spencer watched you for a moment longer, trying to figure you out, then he stood up from the bed without another word. His footsteps faded until you were alone in the bed, next to the shape of him in your bed that you thought you had rid yourself of.

Spencer flipped the switch of your bathroom light. The medicine case was still under the sink, so he took it from its place carefully. In the kitchen, he filled a bowl with water and searched for a cloth.

When he came back into your bedroom, you were still where he had left you, staring into space. “I don’t know why I asked you that when I knew I wouldn’t want to hear the answer.”

He set the bowl on the nightstand and sat on the edge of the bed. “It was a valid question. You had the right to know.”

“You never let me know, though.” You directed your eyes to his face.

“I—Can we talk about this later? I want to make sure your wound is clean and healing well first.”

“Fine,” You agreed reluctantly.

Of course he’d dodge the question for a second time, why would he not?

“But don’t think I’ll let you off the hook this time.” Your eyes shone with the promise. Or threat, Spencer couldn’t tell.

“Wouldn’t dare,” he said without protest, and started to unpack the first aid kit.

“Wait, not on the bed.” You stopped him with a hand over his. Spencer’s eyes stuck to the sight like glue, and he swallowed before humming noncommittally. You weren’t sure if he registered what you said, so you added, “I don’t want any exudate on my sheets.”

Spencer tried not to smile at your choice of words. He had been the one to teach you the medical term for wound water.

“Okay.” He nodded, his eyes finding yours.

He led the way to the bathroom with familiarity.

You hopped onto the counter of your bathroom—not without Spencer scowling you for putting too much weight on your arm, to which you replied with a roll of your eyes and a sarcastic, “It’s just a bullet graze, not a broken bone.”

Spencer shook his head, but you could see his lips twitch with the effort of holding back a smile.

He dipped the cloth into the water and patted it softly along the skin outside of your wound, removing first the blood that had stained your skin.

You watched his face and hand alternately. You were so distracted by the creases of his face, the brown of his eyes as their whole attention was on you, that you didn’t notice he had applied rubbing alcohol to the piece of fabric and begun to clean the wound.

“Fuck, couldn’t you be a little rougher? It doesn’t hurt enough already. A warning would’ve been nice.” You gritted out through clenched teeth.

It wasn’t so much the pain that made you snap at him, but the embarrassment of having caught yourself admiring your ex-boyfriend. Who you very much made a point of fighting with for the better part of this year.

“Snapping at me won’t make this hurt any less.” Spencer frowned at you.

He would tell you that he was being the gentlest he could be in this situation, but that sensitizing a wound hurt because the pressure and moment could irritate the injury, and that the antiseptics interact with pain receptors, which caused the burning sensation.

Instead, he lessened the pressure as much as he could.

You blew a breath out of your nose in exasperation, but refrained from speaking further.

“I’m almost done,” he assured you with a soft murmur, subsequently wrapping the bandage around your arm. “Too tight?”

With a shake of your head you denied his concerned question. “It’s okay.”

You tried to swallow down the bile of snarky comments that festered in your mouth, Spencer could tell. By the way your jaw muscles twitched and your fingers were wringing themselves into knots.

But he knew it was only a defensive wall that you had built to keep him from hurting you again.

He wanted nothing more than to take your hand into his, kiss you, and tell you that he would endure even those if it meant spending time with you. But he knew it would be a dysfunctional thing to say and a foundation for a second try that was destined to crumble.

Spencer busied himself with packing the supplies away while you stayed frozen in your seat on the countertop.

After putting everything away and soaking the bloodied cloth into cold water, he suggested going into the kitchen to eat, and you agreed too quickly, happy to have something else to do than watch him know your apartment by heart.

“What do you have?” He asked, entering the room.

“Cornflakes, but they might be stale. Forgot to close them properly before we got called in.” You fished the package from the cabinet and a cornflake from it before crushing it with your teeth. “Yep, definitely stale.”

A laugh escaped him at the scrunch of your nose. It felt almost normal, but a kind of false sense of normalcy. Like having to ask someone an important question after having an unresolved argument.

Both of you were dancing around the real conversation you should be having.

“I also have oranges?”

“And they’re not putrid?” He asked sceptically with a raised eyebrow.

“I don’t think they are.”

Spencer reached for one at the same time that you did. For the smallest moment, you let your hands stay touching, yours around the fruit, Spencer’s fingertips brushing against your knuckles.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, pulling his hand away as if you had given him a delayed shock. “They look okay.”

His words were an invitation for you to let the moment pass without any awkwardness, but you chose to ignore them. It was like the touch had given you the courage to face the conversation.

Spencer’s touch tended to have that effect on you.

“Can we cut this short? Please, just answer the question. Be honest, did or did you not still love me when we broke up?” You blurted out as you turned to face him with a shyness that was so unlike you when you were with him. Perhaps shyness was the wrong word. Alethophobia seemed more fitting. The fear of the truth.

For a guy with a high IQ and a very big vocabulary, Spencer was stumped on how to answer. Of course he loved you, but when had love ever been enough? It didn’t save his mother from her schizophrenia getting worse and worse day by day. It didn’t stop his father from leaving, didn’t prevent Gideon from leaving Spencer that letter. Elle, it didn’t make her stay either, did it?

Love wasn’t enough, but he wished it to be when it came to you. And for the first time, whoever was in charge of his happiness listened to his desperate pleas.

Until something else seemed not to be enough.

He wasn’t Derek Morgan—muscles and charm, he wasn’t Aaron Hotchner—intimidating and protective. He was Spencer Reid—intelligent and…he couldn’t think of a second word that was synonymous to him. All of his life, that was what he was, an aberrational kind of smart. But that didn’t pull the ladies, did it?

But something about Spencer Reid—his stupid rambles, his nonexistent charisma, his social unawareness, awkward, lanky Spencer—made you fall in love with him, he tried to tell himself.

Was that enough to make you stay? Asked another, crueler voice in his head.

It was a never-ending story of wanting that made his love dishonest. It made him chase what he thought would be enough until he overlooked what really was. And in the end, it made him not enough.

The cases had gotten more, and with them grew the tension in your relationship. You had gotten more reckless in hopes of making Spencer care, and he stopped showing you care as a result of his worry.

It was a spiral that led to the fight that day.

He thought breaking up would be the best decision, with the cases putting stress on your relationship. He had never been this wrong.

“Of course I still loved you,” He said because it was true, and the rest seemed ineffable. So instead, he took the orange from your hands and began peeling it whilst telling himself it was purely for the comfort of having something to do with his hands. (You hated the sticky feeling of orange juice on your hands.)

There were so many questions you wanted to ask. All of them, you knew the answer to.

You had broken up because the stress had gotten unmanageable, together or apart, but the only way to loosen the knot was to cut the rope. You didn’t stay friends because you simply weren’t friends. You were here right now because you still loved each other.

“Why didn’t you answer the question on the day?” You asked because it was the only question you had no answer to. Your eyes were fixed on his hands peeling the orange.

“It didn’t really matter in the moment, did it?” He said onerously.

“I guess not.”

Silence, only filled by the clattering of plates as you gave one to Spencer, and a quiet mumble of thanks from him.

He hands you the plate filled with the orange peeled into slices.

You clear your throat and put the plate on the table in front of you. “Share it with me?”

He knew that you knew what you were doing. You had talked to him about symbolisms, one quiet night when neither of you could sleep. About what it meant to share an orange.

It was a peace offering, an ‘apology accepted’, subtle enough to go ignored in case he had forgotten or didn’t want the acceptance.

But he never did. Never would, not about you or all the things you said to him. They were ingrained somewhere deep in his neocortex.

And he would always want your forgiveness.

“Yeah,” he replied, sitting down first. You followed his lead, sitting opposite him.

For a moment, you just ate, just existed in the moment of quiet understanding, but Spencer had to be sure that you actually knew.

“I love you now, if that’s the real question.” He said carefully. He wasn’t one to read social queues perfectly, and he wasn’t sure if that’s what you were leading up to. But he wanted it to be this, wanted to get it off his chest, anyway.

You looked up at him from the lice you had been surgically dissecting. “I know.” You said with a kind of reticence. “I know.” You said a second time, more to yourself than to him.

Spencer nodded. He was glad that you knew; it was all he hoped for.

It was hard to find a way to move on from this. Neither of you seemed to like the option of staying just friends, but the doorstep of the conversation that could lead to a second try seemed too big to overcome.

You only spoke when you were washing the plate, handing it to Spencer for him to dry it. An activity that was as simple as wanting to be helpful, but shared between two people with a history, it became a heavy anachronism.

“I do, too.” You sighed, turning to face him so your right hip was pressed to the counter. “But we both know that it wasn’t the reason we broke up. Unrequited love. If anything, it was the opposite.”

“Yeah.” He swallowed, his throat burning from the sour juice of the orange or the agreement, he didn’t know. “But we’re wiser now, we could—stand a chance. What you said to Theodore—you said that his mother couldn’t be mad forever, that she just wants him in her life, and I thought…maybe you were…”

Spencer took his time drying the plate, longer than it needed tending to, but his fingers needed something to busy themselves with.

“I was.” You confirmed quietly. “It’s hard, Spence.” You watched him perk up as you spoke the nickname. “I want to be with you, but it—I can’t do this again.”

With a gesture between the two of you, you confirmed that you meant the tension, the fights, the heartbreak.

“I don’t want that either. Can’t that be enough? That we want to try again?” He set the plate into its original place and turned to you.

“I hope so. I want it to be enough.”

“Then can we try?” Spencer took a bold step towards you, his left hand found the counter’s edge. Both of you now facing each other.

“Spence, nothing about our circumstances changed. We’re still FBI agents who definitely do not have normal working hours.”

He huffed a laugh. “Yeah, no, definitely not.” His smile wore off quickly. “So, what? We just keep our distance? Like we did before?”

You hesitated. It was definitely not what you wanted either. God, why was it so difficult to just say no to him? Why couldn’t you be strong enough to carry the best for both of you through?

The hesitance in your eyes was enough for Spencer. It made him bolder to know you wanted this as much as he did.

“I’m not trying to pressure you into this,” he said softly. “I just want you to know how I feel. I think me not letting you know what I was thinking was half the reason why we didn’t work out.”

“What are you thinking?”

“I think that I was a fool for ever thinking that we wouldn’t end up here again. I was scared that the imminent would happen before I could stop it. That I wouldn’t be able to do something that proved I deserve this kind of love before you realized that, really, you deserve someone better.” He said without missing a beat.

You opened your mouth to protest, but he beat you to it.

“Right now I’m thinking that you’re beautiful and that I don’t care about any of the things that I just said because I just want to kiss you.”

Your mouth stayed agape, with the protests you were about to speak stuck in your throat. All you could manage was a nod and a quiet, desperate-sounding, “please.”

Spencer’s lips were on yours in seconds. With the speed he closed the gap and cradled your face with, you’d think his kiss would be desperate, rough and fast, but it wasn’t. He kissed you with gentleness and integrity.

The taste of orange fresh on your lips, shared between you two like the fruit. Spencer had missed the feeling of your skin under his hands and your hair tickling his fingertips as they buried themselves in it.

He sighed into your mouth and angled his head to the side a little more to kiss you deeper.

The day was spent with hushed whispers and uncontrolled laughter, all while ignoring phone calls because you were too caught up in each other.

As you lay in bed, Spencer tracing shapes on your collarbone, he whispered with a grin. “You know…a little bird told me you were quite dramatic about the breakup.”

You shot up. “Penelope Garcia—”

──────────── ⋆˚࿔

thank you so much for reading! reblogs are the only way to promote posts on here, so please consider supporting me if you liked it!! feedback is appreciated 𝜗𝜚

second a/n: for those who don’t know what sharing an orange means and don’t want to google it, it symbolizes love, intimacy, and connection. If you want more of these two please send me requests (like before the breakup, during, after they got back together…)!! I love writing for them so much

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #ex!spencer reid #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid comfort #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid cm #dr spencer reid #criminal minds x you #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds #bau team

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creatingblackcharacters · 17 hours ago

Note

Hello! I am sorry in advance that this question is not as much about creating Black characters, but to be honest you were the first person I thought to ask about this situation. I totally understand if you would rather not answer since you don't owe me an instruction on what to do, but I'll try at least. This is about racism in fandom, so there will be mentions of that ahead. Also English is not my native language so sorry for any mistakes.

In the fandom I am a part of there is a Black male character in the main cast of characters, and unsurprisingly he is often targeted for his identity. Just recently a person in a shared fandom space (it's a Russian space, to be more specific, so it's already lacking in the Black representation and people are way less educated on racial issues since those aren't as visible in culture here, we almost aren't taught anything about it in schools etc) created a series of cartoonish artworks of the main cast, and the Black character was the only one holding a banana while others had different objects. When I pointed it out and asked directly why, that artist wasn't even shy to admit that yes, it basically was a racist "joke", but they "didn't mean to offend". When I argued basically that what they are saying is bullshit, I got a response that "they have non-Russian friends (I can't be certain but I'm fairly sure that they meant like Middle Eastern since that's the most likely scenario with that wording, not Black) that make jokes like that and don't take offense". At that point I have already reported this to the moderators of said fandom space and didn't continue the arguement, but I wanted to ask your advice if that's okay, how do I respond to the "I have non-white friends that make offensive jokes" arguement?

P.S. Even if you don't answer this ask, which again, I understand since it's not really on theme, I want to thank you for the educaton. Your work is invaluable <3

I mean, tbh, they don't sound like they are worthy of any further conversation. You already approached them with the concern, and they blew you off with an inaccurate "I have Black friends". That person is antiblack racist, they are now aware out loud that they are being racist both on their page and amongst their also antiblack peers, and there's not much else you can do about that except tell your own peers "hey, this person has been overtly racist, and I will not be associating with them or their work". They chose to be racist, so treat them like it. 🤷🏾‍♀️

And if the people around you, knowing what this person is like, still choose to support them, well... Now you know just what they'll tolerate for the sake of entertainment. Unfortunately I can't walk you through that part, but I know I'd rather have a small group of antiracist friends and supporters than a large group of racist ones.

Good job on confronting them about it in the first place 👍🏾

#creatingblackcharacters #antiblackness #oh god was it wyll lmao

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cyree · 21 hours ago

Text

answering the age old question of why i hate pesos mother 🤑 (this is also an excuse to yap about the great penguin race)

i made a video on this but it’ll take fifty years to upload so i’m just re typing it and i shortened the great penguin race to tgpr bc i am not typing allat 😭🙏

yes this is me losing it over fucking octonauts i am very normal about a certain episode ahah

okay so first this isn’t some random ass beef i came up with i have many reasons #d1hater

number one:

assuming you have watched tgpr then you know that peso did NOT sign up it was his mother and pinto who did.

why?? why did they have to go behind his back to do it?? why didn’t they ask peso about this??

like brother you are signing up your kid for the PENGUIN OLYMPICS and you don’t get his input?? did she just not gaf about how her son would feel about this 😭

neither pinto nor his mother gave a flying fugly fart about if peso would wanna participate which is odd considering HES THE ONE PARTICIPATING and considering this doesn’t seem like something peso would want to do.

number two:

okay so maybe i could get past that but no pinto and his mother just had to go and surprise peso with ts???

BROTHER WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN SURPRISE??? THE ONLY SURPRISE IS HOW HE DIDNT CRASH OUT PESO IS BETTER THAN ME GOODNESS GRACIOUS

so not only do they surprise him they do it HOURS before the race starts.

so pesos mother wants to send him into a race he is not prepared for, very OBVIOUSLY doesn’t want to do and that he had no say in.

not only is lil broseph going up against the REIGNING CHAMPION with little to no training but pinto and his mother want peso to win??

listen you guys i fucking love peso but he stood absolutely zero chance against hugo lets be honest

number three:

why is she going along with pintos stupid plan because this bs is a disaster waiting to happen and anyone with a working brain knows that pintos idea is astronomically stupid

now pinto has some excuse since his brain probably isn’t even halfway developed but his mum?? a grown ass woman?? how the fuck did you hear this and think “hell yeah lets do this!” like??? are you insane?? lacking braincells?? diseased?? idk anymore

number four:

okay so like i said earlier pesos mum really doesn’t seem to gaf about pesos feelings like at all and theres one scene that really pmo.

shockingly the first event goes horribly for peso since hes extremely unprepared and so he lands in that bigass pile of snow so pinto and his mum run over

and you might think “oh is she gonna comfort peso?”

no.

no comfort, no “you did great” all she says is

“peso you’ll catch a cold”

YOU LIVE IN THE SNOW?? THATS IS THE LAST THING THAT SHOULD BE ON YOUR MIND ARE YOU DUMB????????

then she says nothing else and walks away not even a “good luck” like girl do you have any sort of empathy for your kid?

number five:

ok this is more yapping about the race itself but it ties into my point.

so i cannot be the only one who thinks this race is like extremely dangerous not in the extreme sports way but in the extreme lack of safety precautions

some examples include multiple animals in the water where the swimming races take place, its because that there’s other animals that peso and hugo get stuck under the ice

now this is not me blaming pesos mother for them getting trapped because no one saw it coming but you would think shed put more thought into sending her child into the olympics yk

also there are literally predators in the water LIKE THERES AN ORCA THEY EAT PENGUINS ITS IN AN EPISODE IN ABOVE AND BEYOND RIGHT??? LIKE I SWEAR THERES ONE WHERE PESO AND PINTO ALMOST GET EATEN BY ORCAS??

heres the aforementioned orca btw

also there is ZERO first aid or rescue teams at all like if the octonauts hadn’t been there to rescue peso and hugo they likely would’ve run out of air by the time a rescue team arrived

considering they watch the race every year pesos mum had to have known this and intentionally or not she put her son in danger because of her decisions.

conclusion:

i really dislike pesos mum due to her stupid decisions she made and her frankly concerning lack of consideration for her son’s feelings. considering we never see her again. there’s no real redeeming qualities for her for me, atleast.

okay yap sesh over sorry for the wall of text i’ve been waiting to talk about this

@hers-underwraps hope you don’t mind being tagged in this you seemed like you wanted to hear abt this 🤑

ok thanks tee hee

#octonauts #peso octonauts #yapping #this show has me in a chokehold #analysing a childrens show makes me feel insane but also its fun

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mischievoushiddleston · 2 days ago

Text

Panel After Dark

Pairing: Eric Winter x female! Reader

Warnings: Smut

Masterlist Here!

The light in the hotel bar was pleasantly dimmed and cozy. It wasn't too crowded, but it was lively enough that nobody stood out sitting alone at the bar. Y/N stirred her drink with a straw, lost in thought. Her voice was almost hoarse from the panel, where she hadn't been able to hold back. She wanted to take her chance and was happy that she had been one of the few to get the opportunity.

"All right," she had said, directly into the microphone as she stood up, "The question is for Eric: if Tim Bradford had a softie moment - a real one with a candlelit dinner and a blanket - what would it be like?"

The room laughed. Eric Winter too. And not embarrassed - but honest, warm and with that slightly rough undertone that had tingled in Y/N's stomach and made her unconsciously squeeze her legs together slightly.

Now she was sitting here, two hours later, in the hotel bar - without much hope of seeing him again, while she unconsciously bit her lower lip. And then she heard him and felt goose bumps spread over her skin.

"I recognized your face," a deep voice said from behind her, "Bradford would hate that you introduced him at a candlelight dinner."

She took a deep breath and paused for a moment before turning around - and there he stood. Eric Winter, in jeans and a light blue shirt that was slightly open at the collar. Casual, charming. A dangerous mix that only made her press her legs together again.

Y/N grinned, hoping not to let on how nervous she actually was. "You were laughing. I have proof."

"Is that so?" he asked as he simply sat down next to her, ordering a whiskey and looking directly at her. "But I'll admit, I rarely laugh this honestly on panels. Usually the questions are... well, more harmless."

"Then I'm glad to have enriched your evening." She sipped her glass, trying not to look too nervous.

"You definitely added to the evening," Eric said with a slight wink. Y/N leaned back and looked at him with a smirk.

"I never really got an answer to my question..." she breathed with a playful twinkle in her eye.

Eric leaned a little closer. "What do you say we take the evening a little further? With... a drink. In my room. Just you, me, and no microphone within earshot, and I'll answer your question."

Y/N blinked. Briefly. Her lips curled into a crooked smile.

"Is this your official panel after-program?"

"VIP guests only." he murmured, looking her straight in the eye. "And you definitely had the best question of the day."

Y/N looked at him with interest, raising her glass to her lips and sipping it slowly before casually crossing her legs. Her gaze lingered on him, calm but with a noticeable crackle in the air.

"That sounds... tempting," she said quietly, her voice soft as velvet. "But tell me - how much does such an exclusive extra cost?"

His gaze wandered briefly to her lips, then back to her eyes - dark, alert, almost demanding.

Eric grinned, leaned back with the glass in his hand and looked at her as if he wanted to solve a riddle. "It all depends on what you want. Conversation, company... or something unspoken in between. Either way, we'd both get something out of it..."

His tone was calm, controlled - and yet there was an underlying current between them, as if something could jump out at any moment.

Y/N leaned forward a little, just enough for her scent to touch him. "What if I want it all?"

He was silent for a moment. No feigned hesitation, rather a silent weighing up - whether she was serious. Whether he could take it seriously.

Then he put his glass down. "Then you should come with me now, before I convince myself that I should remain the gentleman everyone thinks I am."

A dry, quiet laugh escaped her and she slid off the bar stool. His eyes followed her every move. "All right, Mr. Winter. Show me your 'VIP program'."

He led her through the hotel lobby in silence, the hum of the air conditioning and the subdued lighting creating a strangely intimate atmosphere. The elevator was empty when they got in.

The door closed.

Silence.

A brief flash in his eyes, and then he stepped closer.

"Last chance to change your mind." His voice was rougher now, almost whispering.

Y/N cocked her head slightly to the side, looking him straight in the eye. "Why should I?"

He grabbed her waist, pulling her to him in one smooth motion - unhurried, but with clear intent.

"Then I'll start to spoil you. And afterwards, I'll let you decide if it was worth the price."

His lips met hers - warm, firm, demanding.

And when the elevator started to move, they both knew that this was just the beginning.

The kiss was not hesitant - it was immediate.

present.

He kissed her the way he had looked at her earlier: focused, with a hint of control, but ready to lose himself in it. His hand at her waist pulled her closer while his other landed in her hair, gentle but demanding.

Y/N returned it just as hungrily. Her fingers slipped under his open shirt collar, feeling the warmth of his skin, the slight rise in his pulse. Her body nestled against his, as if she wanted to feel every inch - and that's exactly what she did.

Eric tasted of whiskey and mint, his lips warm and soft against hers. When she bit lightly on his lower lip, a dark, throaty sound escaped him - soft but charged.

"You're going to drive me out of my mind," he murmured against her mouth.

"That's the plan," she whispered back, pulling him even closer.

When the elevator stopped and the door opened with a soft *ping*, they reluctantly broke away from each other. They both breathed faster, his hand sliding lower against her back, almost possessively, as he led her into the hallway.

"Last door on the right," he said hoarsely.

The walk to the room was short, but every step was charged with the knowledge of what was about to happen. He pulled out his room card, let the door open and turned to face her - there was no question in his eyes. Only hunger.

As soon as the door closed behind them, he pushed her gently but firmly against it.

His mouth found hers again, this time more slowly, more intensely. His hands explored her body more freely now - the curve of her waist, the base of her hip, the slight trembling he caused her.

Y/N's fingers ran through his hair, her nails grazed the back of his neck. She pulled his shirt out of his pants, slid under the fabric, and felt his muscles tense under her touch.

He whispered her name against her skin like a promise, kissing his way down her neck, finding the exact spots where her breath caught.

"You feel better than in my imagination," he whispered, his voice hoarse with desire.

She smiled, pulling him towards the bed. "Wait until you get it all."

Y/N pushed him backwards towards the bed, her fingers still under his shirt, which was now rising inch by inch over his chest. He let her, his eyes fixed on hers - dark, alert, almost greedy.

When she finally let the shirt slide completely over his shoulders, it fell to the floor. Her gaze slid over his upper body, defined, warm. She could feel the tension in his muscles under her hands, the soft sigh of relief as her fingers brushed along his ribs.

Eric lifted his hands, slipped her jacket off - slowly, with relish. Then he ran both thumbs under the waistband of her top and looked at her as if to reassure himself that she was still with him every step of the way.

Y/N nodded barely perceptibly.

With a gentle tug, he pulled the shirt over her head. His gaze traveled over her - not just greedily, but reverently, as if he wanted to memorize every detail.

"You're..." He shook his head slightly, as if words couldn't keep up.

"Better say it with actions," she whispered, gently pushing him to the edge of the bed.

Eric let himself sink back, leaning on his forearms, while she undressed in front of him - first her pants, then her bra, with a confident glint in her eyes. Her movements were calm, controlled - but every little gesture carried weight.

When she was standing in front of him in just her panties, she pulled him all the way back onto the bed with a gentle push on his shoulder. Then she swung herself over him with supple elegance, sat astride his hips, her hands flat on his chest.

He moaned softly, lifted his hands to her thighs, ran them slowly upwards - along her waist, her sides, until they were buried in her hair.

"You look like a fucking dream, Y/N."

She leaned toward him, her lips just a breath away from his. "Then don't wake up."

And she kissed him-deeper, more demanding. Their bodies moved in synchronized rhythm, as if they'd found each other long ago. Her hips rolled lightly against his, just enough to drive him to the edge with each contact.

His hands slid under her panties, finding the warmth of her skin as she pressed against him, soft, demanding, impatient.

His voice was little more than a throaty murmur. "If you're not careful now, I'm going to lose control completely."

Y/N kissed his neck, whispering against his skin, "Maybe that's the plan."

Eric suddenly grabbed her hips and spun her under him in one swift, smooth motion. His body pressed her into the mattress, his weight heavy on her - controlling, but not crushing. His gaze was fixed on her, not a trace of uncertainty left.

"You like playing with fire, huh?" His voice was deeper, darker as he leaned over her. "Then I'll show you what heat really feels like."

Y/N's breath quickened as he pressed her arms over her head, holding her there with one hand - not roughly, but firmly. His other arm slipped between them, his fingers brushing over her panties, slowly, agonizingly light.

"So damn soft," he murmured, his lips barely touching her neck. "And you make this so easy... wanting you."

With a deft move, he tore the last of the fabric away from her, tossing it carelessly to the side. Then he kissed his way down from her collarbone - slowly, demanding - his tongue grazing the most sensitive areas with one goal: to make her tremble.

Y/N arched towards him, seeking more, but he held her tight. Controlled. His fingers slid through her heat, slid inside her - deeply, rhythmically, and then he stopped, only to silence her tender protest with a kiss.

"You don't get anything you don't deserve," he murmured against her lips.

Then he straightened up, removed his trousers, his boxer shorts - his gaze never left her for a moment.

He knelt between her thighs, gripped her hips and pulled her hard against him.

"Tell me you want me," he demanded, his voice a command, not a wish.

"I want you," she breathed, completely surrendered beneath him.

"No, Y/N," he growled. "Say it the way I want to hear it."

She looked him straight in the eyes, lustful, ready. "I want you inside me. Now. Take me."

Eric wasted no time. In one fluid movement, he penetrated her deeply - firmly, demanding. A rough moan escaped him as their bodies found each other perfectly.

"You're mine - right now," he groaned, his hips thrusting powerfully against hers.

Eric paused when he was fully inside her - motionless, deep - and looked at her as if he wanted to memorize every detail of her face. Her dilated pupils, the slightly open mouth, the trembling in her chest as she tried to anticipate his rhythm.

"Can you feel that?" His voice was little more than a raspy whisper. "As deep...as you wanted it."

Y/N nodded, but that wasn't enough for him. He withdrew slowly, almost all the way - she gasped - and then thrust deep into her again, a long, controlled thrust that pressed her hips into the mattress.

A moaning sound escaped her, raw and uncontrolled. And he liked it.

He repeated it - slowly, deliberately. Each thrust was precise, firm, deep. No hasty thrusting - but slow-motion possession.

"Every inch of you is mine right now," he whispered. His hands gripped her thighs, pulling her closer to him so that he could slide even deeper into her. Eric leaned down and took one of her nipples into his mouth. His teeth grazed over the sensitive spot and made her moan.

She clung to him, feeling his pelvis provoking her climax every time, teasing him, challenging him - but he gave her no control. Only the feeling that he was controlling everything. Her tempo. Her trembling. Her climax.

His upper body lowered over her again, his chest pressed against hers, his breath hot on her neck. He held her arms above her head again, pinning her with just one hand while the other held her hips tighter - setting his rhythm.

Then came the moment when he increased the pace slightly - not recklessly, but just enough to make her twitch begging beneath him.

"You take me so damn well," he moaned against her ear, "like you were made just for this."

Her legs closed tighter around him, her fingernails digging into his arm as he moved deeper and longer into her - each thrust driving her closer to the edge, not letting her breathe, only feel.

"Please, Eric..." she gasped.

"Not yet," he growled. "You'll cum when I tell you to."

And so he kept her on the edge, driving her almost insane for minutes - until her muscles spasmed, her body began to quake beneath him. Then, with one last deep, controlled thrust, he leaned forward, looked into her eyes.

"Now."

And she cum - with a sound meant only for him, her body jerking under his control.

He followed seconds later, deep inside her, his groan hot against her skin as he surrendered - breathing heavily, holding her as if he couldn't let her go.

Her breathing slowly calmed. Their bodies lay close together, still sweaty, still warm, but the heat was now giving way to a quiet, almost holy calm.

Eric moved carefully without letting go of her completely. He slipped the rumpled sheet over his lower body and pulled Y/N a little closer to him. Her head now rested on his chest, one hand on his stomach. Her fingers were still on his skin as if half asleep - as if she needed to make sure he was really there.

"Are you okay?" His voice was soft, quieter than before. No trace of dominance - just caring, honest interest.

interest.

Y/N raised her eyes slightly, looking at him, her lips still slightly swollen from the kiss, her eyelashes heavy. She nodded slowly. "Mmm... better than okay."

A faint smile settled on his lips. He leaned forward, kissed her forehead - not demanding, not hungry - but quietly, almost tenderly.

"You're incredible," he murmured as his hand ran slowly over her back. "I didn't know a convention could end like this."

She laughed softly, sleepily. "I thought you were the pro at panels like this."

"Only on stage..." He looked down at her, his thumb stroking her shoulder. "That's where I need luck. And you were just that today."

She said no more. Her eyelids drooped again, her breathing became calmer, more even. The excitement was gone, the moment full of gentle silence.

Eric pulled the blanket over them both, his arm firmly around her. He felt her snuggle against him, sigh slightly - and then fall asleep.

"Sleep well, Y/N," he whispered against her hair.

A/N I hope you enjoyed it 😉 Which of you were also at the Con

in Paris?

#eric winter #eric winter smut #tim bradford smut #the rookie #tim bradford #tim bradford x reader #one shot #tim bradford x y/n #smut

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adoresia · 19 hours ago

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— LIMERENCE ⋆ Kuroo Tetsuroo

(adj.) unseen, unnamed, shrouded in Veilance

It’s one thing to fall — harder still when you’re aching for a name, a face, or a ghost that writes in purple ink.

KUROO lay in his bed, arms folded behind his head while he stared at the ceiling — blurry through the darkness. It was way past midnight, the air was still and he could very vaguely hear the fan humming in the corner of his room. His phone contributed to the warmth he felt within this chest from one too many half finished texts. The glow from the notifications faded ages ago; leaving him alone with his thoughts, rustling louder than his sheets ever could.

He stares at the ceiling. The ceiling stares back, not because he’s thinking hard; because he doesn’t know where else to look. His phone’s already at 6% and the conversation paused in the middle of you telling him about some kid on her street who tried to race a squirrel. He’d laughed out loud. Wrote “You should’ve joined in you would’ve won.” in return and you sent back a voice note laughing.

He knew the sound of your laugh. Not your voice though, just your laugh. He always knows what books you’re reading. How much you hate school. What your playlists sound like. That you sleep with one sock on and complain about it being missing every morning. That you like when it rains but hate wet jeans. That your neighbor owns a bird that screams at 7am like it’s personally offended by the concept of peace.

He knows it all, but not your name. Not your face. Not the sweet hum of your voice.

His thoughts wander back to where he found you. A library! well technically just outside one. He was returning a chemistry textbook to the campus drop box, dragging his feet while half asleep when he noticed a sticky note wedged between the pages that he did not remember leaving in there. The handwriting was in a neat purple ink that read “Don’t be a cheater and look at the answers in the back, but hey who am I to stop you?” It caught him off guard. Made him laugh, actually. It wasn’t even funny.He brushed it off and returned the book anyway; thinking maybe someone was just bored and trying to be funny. A week later, on a whim he borrowed a copy of another chemistry book, for kenma. Inside of it was another note? “No answer key in this one. sorry in advance.” Same handwriting. Same corner of the page. It wasn’t even addressed to anyone… coincidence? After that he started checking every book he touched, as if they might be in the middle of some secret conversation.

The third one was tucked into a psychology text: “This one should have answers. They just raise more questions.” And then one day; wedged in the middle of a stats workbook was a number?No name, no pressure. Just a note reading “I doubt anyone’s actually keeping up with the notes I leave in some of these books… BUT! If you’re not a creep… text me? :3” He stared at his first for ten minutes before sending… “Depends. Do creeps return chemistry books on time?” You replied almost instantly : “you sound like more of a nerd than a creep.” He grinned at his phone screen.

Regardless of him having your number, you still passed notes for about a month. Book spines. Backs of receipts. One time on a folded up tea bag wrapper. But then you got tired of leaving silly little riddles in ripped up pieces of paper and you both texted more instead. You told him not to look you up; you liked the space you guys made. Like there was something nice about being known without being seen. And he didn’t question it.

Not at first. But now? Months later? it feels like he’s walking through fog toward a house that might not even be there. He wants to ask. To see; or maybe study you on a deeper level, but he’s scared his curiosity will ruin everything. Scared that knowing will make it less. That seeing will change the way it feels. Because right now you feel unreal in the best way. Funny; gentle; and weird and honest in ways most people aren’t when they’re in front of you. Like the distance gave you permission to be softer. Warmer.

He thinks he’s in love with you. And he hates that sentence. It sounds too big for something so undefined. So faceless. But it doesn’t feel fake. It’s in the way he looks forward to your messages. In the way your texts make his chest do that dumb flutter thing. In the way he can hear something and immediately think, you’d laugh at this.

It’s real.

It’s just… weird.

And he wishes it wasn’t.

He wants to be normal about it. Wants to say I like you and hear you actually say it back and go get coffee and learn your face like he’s been learning your heart. But you never give him more than what he already has. And maybe that’s the point. Maybe you don’t want to be known. Not like that. And he’ll keep pretending that’s okay. That what they have is enough. That knowing your favorite kind of sky is the same as knowing your smile.

He sighs and closes his eyes. phone buzzing once against his chest. Every notification he gets, he hopes it’s you. And if it isn’t? He’ll wait. He doesn’t mind waiting, not if it’s for you.

Dividers/banners by @.junabuggy :3

@livteracts stop guilt tripping me in my dms HERE IS YOUR TAG HERE IT IS IM SORRY OKAY I WAS GONNA TAG YOU ITS THE THIUGHT THAT COUNTS

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sharonmuthu · 1 day ago

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Lady Sharon, I am curious: which of Noshir’s roles is your favorite?

Which of your own roles is your favorite?

What a fun question! Thanks for asking. 🙂

It’s VERY hard for me to choose a favorite for either of us (*it’s like trying to decide which of your children is your favorite, LOL)… BUT, I will offer a few thoughts:

With regards to @noshirdalal ‘s roles, it’s sort of a tie for me between ‘Charles’ from RDR2 & ‘Bode’ from Jedi Survivor. They both have a very, very special place in my heart. As actors, we always try to bring as much of our true selves as we can to the roles that we play. So, in many ways, the roles we create become inextricably linked with who we are & what we’re experiencing in our real lives at the time we’re crafting any given role… With that in mind, Nosh created ‘Charles’ and ‘Bode’ respectively during some very pivotal years in our life together. When I watch his performances, I can literally see the parts of his true self and the pieces of his real-life experiences that he generously brought to each role. And, I know firsthand how much courage it takes as an actor to really dive into a character’s heart and mind & allow others to witness your raw emotions… I may be his wife and best friend, but I am also a huge fan of Noshir’s work. ‘Charles’ & ‘Bode’ are truly stunning portrayals of really complicated characters & they are incredibly personal performances for Noshir. In many ways, only I will ever know the full reality of just how deeply honest, open, & vulnerable Noshir had to be to bring his truth & such raw authenticity to those roles. He truly is a masterful storyteller.

As for me, I think ‘Dr. Saira Bellum’ from Netflix’s “Carmen Sandiego” is my personal standout! I do a lot of animation in my career, and - of all my roles - ‘Dr. B.’ was the role I spent the most time creating over 4 seasons, which is such a luxury for an actor!! It was really fun to play one of the ‘big bads’ in the story! I truly got to know her & infuse her with signature quirks + her own special brand of evil ‘mad scientist’ vibes. Also, by the end of Season 1, the writing team had really started to lean into what I was creating, and they began writing specifically to my voice & style of humor. So, Dr. B really felt like an extension of me when I created her! Most importantly, I learned so much about myself during my time on the show. And, it was like a masterclass in voice acting to be in the booth and learn from my cast-mates & friends (*Legends like Kari Wahlgren, Liam O’Brien, Paul Nakauchi, Mary Elizabeth McGlynn, and so many others!)… I grew immeasurably as an artist and when we wrapped S4, I walked away from our show a better actor & human. I LOVED playing Dr. Bellum & I can’t wait until I get my next chance play another series regular role & truly make them my own.

Thanks for asking such great questions! ❤️

#charles smith #bode akuna #rdr2 #jedi survivor #Dr #dr bellum #saira bellum #carmen sandiego #noshir dalal #videogame #animation #Pcap #voiceover #voice acting #performancecapture

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beatlblog · 2 days ago

Photo

#😳#well im turned on abt it lmao#i actually think he's grabbing his own thigh but i don't fkn care to be honest#ima keep pretending because WHY NOT (via ourladylennon)

#again whoever sat them next to each other........ is both a fool and a genius (via muzaktomyears)

^#god#Paul’s entire shoulder just on top of John (via scurator)

#basket of puppies#fussing (via dovetailjoints)

#Paul experiencing all the emtions available#in four gifs (via inspiteallthedanger)

#gay shit (via notgrungybitchin)

^#seriously (via scurator)

#guys everyone is watching#under the table#john and paul#mclennon confirmed#baby george answering questions earnestly (via got-ticket-to-ride)

#if they're not touching in public tgey start to panic#emotional support songwriting partner (via backbenttulips)

#bonded pair. must not be separated#❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ (via ernest-shackleton)

#i forget this exists#then i remember and like (via scurator)

^#ok (via wronglennon)

^^#2nd gif looks like john pulled paul’s arm forward by his sleeve#to cover something up?#literally this haunts me (via thegirlwiththeaxe)

#is the front of that table open to the world? (via i-am-the-oyster)

^In the pic showing under the table you can clearly see Paul’s bare shin where John has pulled his trouser leg right up so I don’t think it was a crotch grab but a cheeky grab of his thigh causing his trousers to ride up (via doctorbeaker)

#I too would use paul’s little cock like a fidget toy if I was john lennon (via big-barn-bed)

#favorite forever#girl ik what your hand is doing (via menlove)

Personal space doesn’t exist in the Mclennon dictionary ❤️ (via angelicabr)

#i dont truly believe the popular theories here but objectively whats going on is erotic and homo (via paulscunt)

^^^#prev tags#ok but what really gets me is in the second gif#i have to explain this set of gifs and the conspiracy about it for the uninitiated:#so right before this moment paul pranked john by moving his chair right when he went to sit down right? making john almost fall#so in the first gif john had just sneaked his hand under the table and looks meaningfully at paul and paul looks back at him#and makes what almost looks like a pained laugh and squirms and elbows john like he's trying to move away without causing a scene#it could ALMOST be taken for a coincidence to me except for the fact that john also looks kinda evilly concentrated and if you look close#he's sort of leaning into paul and his arm moves along with paul's leg in the second gif....#and then if you watch the video paul just keeps looking dopier and dopier and is like coughing into his fist#and then even starts twirling his hair lmao#i mean ARE THEY DOING SOMETHING under the table for real i dont know but god it's funny to imagine that they are (via 13eyond13)

#moment of all time#wish the fic I wrote for this day did it more justice but hey ho#whatever you’re doing johnny… paul says to cut it out (via javelinbk)

#everyone needs their comfort object <3 (via mchole)

#..........#“and the other one? — 2 queers. [crowd applauds]” (via fbi-smoking-pot-members)

#this fucking interview i swear#paul elbowing him in the arm coughing into his fist squirming in his seat#johns face of concentration#awful (via slutty-oranges)

#something was going on under that damn table idk (via lesbianbeatles)

^#John’s either using his little dick as a joycon or his prostate as a trackpad#good for him (via big-barn-bed)

John’s public mask slips and —- (via whizzoqualityassortment)

#paul is such a pick me girl ... (via oicuperp)

John and Paul during the Beatles press conference in Atlantic City (September 9, 1964)

#japage3 gif #atlantic city

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spongelll · 2 days ago

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THUNDERBOLTS SPOILERS !!!

I have thoughts to share. Bucky thoughts.

okayy so some of this is kind of overly critical I'm ngl but I'm just being nit-picky because it was SO GOOD!! so enjoy my big massive nerd rant :)

anyways...

I'm ngl I did NOT like the fuck ass bob when I first saw the trailers but it did grow on me I'll be completely honest

but the blowout in the end credits. I'm here for it.

whoever made that edit of long hair Bucky during tfatws times, I hope you're having an amazing day, queen. wherever and whoever you are. I hope you're thriving

when those reporters were asking him questions and shoving microphones in his face, god love him. bro tried his best

me stumbling my way through my group presentation in uni. he is me. I am him.

getting a little flirt on with Mel? I see you Bucky. I see you. (I'm jealous)

and her saying "I know what you're doing. you're working me" or whatever she said. GIRL I'd let him work me fr

would not hear me complaining 😇

putting his arm in the dishwasher? 2012 fanfic writers how we feeling???

the WHOLE scene on the bike? HOT.

pulling the chain with his metal arm to stop the car- OH. HOLD ME BACK

also I'm kinda sad that he didn't have that many lines? Or is that just me?

but I feel like he didn't really have a lot of lines considering he was one of the main characters

and I also thought it was weird that they made him a congressman but then barely spoke about it?

like sure it was mentioned offhandedly quite a bit and people called him 'congressman Barnes' or whatever but I feel like it was a bit of a random plot point?

and I don't really see the point of adding it if they didn't flesh it out. but maybe I'm just nit picking too much 💀

ANDDD I was kinda looking forward to seeing what he saw in the void 👀

not that I want our boy to suffer because he deserves all the happiness in the world <3

but idk I was just curious yk

and I cannot BELIEVE we're in a sambucky divorce era. devastating.

they literally JUST said that they love each other in Brave New World BRO WHAT HAPPENED 😭

and last but not least.

THE THEME SONG!! OUR BOY FINALLY GOT A SICK ASS THEME SONG WITH NO DISTORTED SCREAMING OR EERIE CLANKING IN THE BACKGROUND HOLY SHIT!!!!!

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transmutationisms · 6 hours ago

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Hello! I have a question. My brother in law is studying to become a doctor (usamerican) and I recently had a conversation with him where we discussed drugs and addiction. I had read your antipsych faq a few days before, and though I admit that I am terribly under informed, I pushed back against some of the ideas he had, but some of the things he said I’m still working through and wondered if there any go to readings you’d recommend?

For example, when talking about drugs and addiction, I asked him if someone being an addict or being addicted was always a bad thing, because if someone wants to take drugs and are aware of the effects they should be allowed.

His response was that if a person is addicted to a drug then they don’t have that choice on the matter anymore then it is a bad thing. He also added that a lot of people aren’t actually informed of what a drug will do to them before they take it.

I didn’t have a good response to this and I’ve been thinking about it sense. I really appreciate your writings on antipsych; its definitely helped further my outlook on it. Thanks for your time!

-i have a drugs tag and an addiction tag (idr why i have both. sorry lol) you might want to check out in addition to my general psychiatry tag. for one thing Addiction is not a concept that even has a singular definition nor should we be reifying it

-this is precisely one thing that biopsychiatric diagnoses get perpetuated for lmfao, to remove patient autonomy by referring back to a biological entity that controls your brain and thus justifies the physician intervening oh so beneficently and in a manner that just so happens to always also line up with what their professional interests & thus the state and legal uses of their profession demand. does it matter these biological disease entities are heuristic assumptions that are circularly defined and always 'just around the corner' from being empirically confirmed for the last two and half centuries? no. does it matter this narrative does not 'reduce stigma' or contribute to patient 'recovery' but traps people in institutions to be traumatised? no. what matters is that your socially deviant behaviour is not actually just personally objectionable to me, the doctor, in fact it is actually prima facie evidence of your diseased brain (bc if you had a normal healthy brain then you naturally wouldn't be doing this pervert behaviour that i hate and that the state has economic interests in suppressing in order to make the lines on the graphs go up) so therefore it's clear you must lack self control and self possession and it's actually good for you if i forcibly intervene to correct you. in fact it would be irresponsible of me not to override your stated objections and impose my own judgment of what's best for you. i wrote a related essay about the rhetorical traps of these medical concepts of harm here

-if this person actually gave two shits about people being able to make informed decisions about drug use (i do) he could try oh i don't know. informing them about drugs (he won't bc he is a cop who believes only in scaring them straight and then punishing them sober)

-biopolitics tag also be upon ye

-typical doctor attitude to be quite fucking honest & exactly why i self censor intead of arguing with any of these demons irl. like godbless if you want to go back in but you won't win. sorry!

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agirlwithglam · 1 day ago

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My Doll Archetypes💋👛🎀

everyone gets played a deck of cards, so why not use that to your advantage? in this post, the cards i'll be looking at is more internal, personal/ characterising.. so i took @thevirgodoll's doll archetype quiz because i found it extremely cool and potentially helpful for understanding myself a bit more. and for funsies. i took the quiz just 5 times and also asked chatgpt to help me with using this information to the best use/ potential. these are my results:

i got the barbie doll 4x and the lover doll 1x

the barbie doll

i got the barbie doll archetype 4x so its probably the one thats most like me. i love pink, and girly, feminine stuff. i'm not always super extroverted but i do find myself at some times happy to be around people, and at sometimes would rather be by myself. i do get quite sensitive and emotional and my escape from reality is usually books, writing or watching tv shows (the basics lol). also the alter ego part is so real because i can switch up when the moods there lol.

🎀 the parts of the barbie doll that are so me 🎀

♡ i love pink and girly stuff ♡ hyper feminine ♡ emotional & sensitive sometimes ♡ playful energy ♡ i like to shift personas/ have alter egos ♡ escapes from reality into fantasy worlds ♡ colourful & spanky ♡ "people's champ"

🎀 other baddies with this archetype: 🎀

⭐️ thevirgodoll uses Nicki Minaj as the case study for this archetype. im gonna be honest with you guys, im not super familiar with Nicki Minaj as i may be with other artists, but after a bit of research, im am so obsessed with her vibe and hypergirliness, and love her music! she definitely has an obvious hypergirlyness, confidence, and baddie-ness to her brand and thinks very highly of herself which i adore and would love to embody that vibe more. how can i apply this to me? for me personally, i should definitely channel/ let out that baddie cool confident girlyness out a bit more without a single care of other people's opinion. i would also like to not be so afraid doing the things that i want and i like.

⭐️ Ariana Grande, in my opinion, is a great representation of the barbie doll archetype. unlike Nicki Minaj, she has a more softer feminine vibe about her instead of a more aggressive confident kind. her baby pink colour scheme, high ponytail, and the way she speaks and sings gives off the girly, barbie vibes! how can i apply this to me? after watching Ariana's whats in her bag video, something i loved so much is her soft, cool, playful energy. it was obvious that she was comfortable and happy with herself which reflected in the way she spoke and moved. i would like to have that quality of happy bliss and playful energy!

⭐️ Cher Horowitz from clueless. i love her love for fashion and her kind, well intentioned heart. she always only wants the best for herself and for others and is the sweetest! her belief she can do anything is the best and i lowkey envy her naivity and blissful ignorance because it means that she doesn't overthink at all about what happens around her <- and thats what i would like how can i apply this to me? so, as for not overthinking, whenever i catch myself going into those habits, i'd like to adopt that quality of naivity/ the bimbo mentality and stupidly question every single overthinking thought that doesn't serve me. this doesn't mean that i don't pay as much attention anymore because i know the ability to feel deeply is extremely valuable, as much as it may hurt; but how i'd love to sleep blissfuly at night without a single doubt or care in the world. also, her well intentioned, pure, innocent qualities is something that i do have, but would like to channel to the fullest more often.

🎀 summary/ agenda: 🎀

fiercely myself and confident in my authenticity

i know i'm cool and fun and a good person. if someone else doesn't think so, okay, who are they first of all?

i know that i may be an acquired taste, as thevirgodoll put it, "if someone doesn't like me, they need to acquire some taste, and if they don't, its their loss." love that.

i won't stop being shining beacon of light and happiness. it depends on who the person is; if someone doesn't want that, i'll get out of their way, but if its a close loved one, i will always be there for them. (honestly it all depends on the situation, but i'll still never dim my light.)

while being fiercely confident, i also want to add a certain playfulness to my branding. i mean, i already find so many things funny so shouldn't be that hard

pure, good intentions only.

bimbo mentality- doesn't give into doubts or overthinking behaviours

should i try meditation??

🎀 NOTE: one more thing; i don't want to limit myself to a certain stereotype or list of qualities, which is coincidently one of barbie's qualities! ; having alter egos. the idea of having to cage myself under a list of qualities to define myself, i personally find limiting and a tad scary. i love to change my vibe and who i am pretty much day to day, because one day i could feel super hypergirly and pinkpinkpink, but another day i lean towards bella swan, downtown girl aesthetic. but i ofc i still have the core of who i am- which i may not be too sure of now but i can't wait to discover and create!

the lover doll

the lover doll is so definitely me! the lover doll qualities is a lover of love, full of love, wants to be loved and wants to love, and wants more than anything a soft life. to me, a 'soft life' isn't really a quiet one, but, as i said earlier, its one where i go to bed happily without my stomach turning in anxiety because x said y in a certain way. we are sensitive, and feel and think very deeply which is a blessing but can also be painful at times.

aspects of the lover doll that are so me

♡ i love love. i love loving people, i want to be loved, i am so so full of love ♡ i love romance and romantic gestures ♡ i may have an anxious attachment style.... ♡ definitely a hopeless/ hopeful romantic ♡ daydreamer

other baddies with this archetype:

⭐️ thevirgodoll used Marilyn Monroe as a representative of this archetype. she writes that Marilyn Monroe 'effortlessly personifies the captivating essence of the lover personality archetype, exuding an irresistible allure that enchants and mesmerises all those who behold her.' Marilyn has an enchanting aura, charisma and dazzling beauty that draws in people effortlessly. Marilyn's original name was Norma Jean, but then she created the persona Marilyn Monroe to become a completely new person! she used visualisation/ daydreaming to completely transform herself, the way people saw her and her life. how can i apply this to me? before going to bed, i can work on my self concept and start shifting my mindset and thoughts to serve me. personally, i don't desperately need this right now and i'm pretty happy with the way i see myself, but you could use affirmations or simply shift the way you think and perceive yourself entirely.

⭐️ i feel that Lana Del Rey is one of the ultimate lover girls. while i do assume lover girls to be more of pastels, bright colours, Lana Del Rey is part of the more darker coloured, deeper, side of it. i love Lana so so much and it is no lie that she has curated a very specific persona and her brand is very easily distinguishable. she has a certain nostalgia, poetic aesthetic, sometimes tragic. she leans into these qualities of her which makes her extremely magnetic, to the right people. since her branding is so specific and kind of targeting to a certain group of people, the people that do get attracted towards this brand are the right people for it. how can i apply this to me? i do want to keep my bubbly, upbeat nature but from Lana, i can learn that the more i am that, the more i lean into who i naturally am and who i naturally like to be, the more i will attract people who will be the absolute best fit for me.

⭐️ Bella Swan from the Twilight trilogy!! idc if people think its cringy, i love twilight so much. and i LOVE Bella, i feel like i definitely relate with her so much- esp in the awkward bits. Bella has an aura of mystery, and quietness which may make her so magnetic to the people in her school and to Edward. how can i apply this to me? of course, i still want to maintain my girly bubbly playful nature, but also for people who are more naturally quiet, or when i feel a bit more introverted at times, i'll let myself be introverted and simply gaze at the world without forcing myself to interact with it.

🎀 summary/ agenda: 🎀

"assume your life is already on the way to its peak, and live as such" - thevirgodoll

find the safety that comes from being loved by others, in myself.

being unapologetically me.

start to view myself as a treasure, as a prize.

never stop loving, never stop loving deeply just because some other person isn't capable of loving like you.

enchanting, magnetic aura

dazzling beauty- that comes from the inside. from being pure.

also need to realise that not everyone deserves to experience my presence or energy because some people can simply not comprehend it.

use my emotional depth/ ability to feel deeply to my advantage to make people feel more loved and seen.

don't feel the need to extroverted and bubbly 24/7, if i feel more introverted, and i don't need to, i won't necessarily strain myself and i'll take the time to fill my own cup.

i loved writing this sooooooo very much, and im actually thinking of making this (re)branding a series! what do you think? anyways take the quiz its so much fun to see what type of doll you are <3

as always, you can support me by BMAC.

with love, xoxo, Vanilla!

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