#should I make a red flags? /j

[yulin-pop]

⤷ ✧ Green Flags

Gender neutral

- order 79 | headcanons | Heartslabyul

Ace Trappola

— Gets along with your family

He may be a big jerk to you but when he meets your parents or any of your family he is literally perfect. He will do anything and everything to look good in front of your family. It’s for approval but he’s the type to actually care as well. If you have younger siblings then he’d be willing to babysit them and buy them things (nothing too expensive hes not that nice).

— Will call you out

This may seem like a red flag to some but disagreements in any sort of relationship is good. He would never invalidate how you feel but if you need to be set straight, then he’ll do that for you. And likewise, if you call him out then he’ll take it just as seriously. When this happens, one of you are bound to be a bit hurt but Ace is thankful that you would do that for him.

Deuce Spade

— Waits for you

He is very patient. Every text he sends, he sits there waiting staring at his screen for a good 5 minutes, just waiting. If you two have different classes he is still dedicated to walk you to your next class. As soon as the bell rings he runs out the room and waits for you outside of yours. He’s also the one that waits for you when you tie your shoes.

— Always excited to see you

He lights up whenever he sees you. It could’ve been just a short 5 minutes and he waltz over to you like he hasn’t seen you in months. If he wasn’t so shy about it, he would pick you up off your feet and spin you around in a tight hug. He really can’t deny how much he loves being around you.

Cater Diamond

— Hypes you up

Your personal hypeman right here! It doesn’t matter what you’re wearing, your posture, location, or mood he will shower you with compliments. “O-M-G you literally look ethereal right now. C’mere!” Takes lots of photos of you. He will try his best to fix your hair or clothes if it gets messed up.

— Buys matching things

You have so many matching accessories. Keychains, hairclips, bracelets, necklaces, etc… He loves matching things and he thinks it’s just so cute to match with someone. He knows you’ll never turn him down!! If he catches you wearing it or you ask him to match it, he literally won’t shut up and he will be all over you— you’re just so cute!!

Trey Clover

— Looks into your interests and hobbies

Not only will he listen to you talk about your interests or hobbies, he will actually try to get into it himself. He will keep you updated on his progress of your favorite show/book/game. And with hobbies he’s probably not gonna be very good at it if it’s something he hasn’t tried but at least you’re there to help him.

— Pats your head

Okay everyone needs a good head pat. It’s honestly a thing that’s never failed him (for the most part). Sometimes he’s a little awkward with physical affection even thought he actually loves it. The most casually thing is to just pat your head and say “I love you good job”.

Riddle Rosehearts

— Listens without judgement

If you ever need to talk to him about your problems, he’s all ears. You can tell he’s listening closely because of his gaze. He really only sees you when you’re talking and nobody else. It’s very intense (ﾟ∀ﾟ)… Whether if you’re in the wrong or not, he doesn’t scold you on it and gives his earnest opinion.

— Checks up on you for no reason

Please pick up his calls or else he will think you got kidnapped or something. He sorta just calls you and you can hear the relief and happiness in his voice. When you two are together, he’s always staring at you— trying to read your facial expression. Don’t be surprised if he randomly stops by, he just does that. He doesn’t really have a reason nor does he have the time for that but he does it anyway.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twst #deuce spade x reader #ace trappola x reader #deuce spade #ace trappola #cater diamond #cater diamond x reader #trey clover #trey clover x reader #riddle rosehearts x reader #riddle rosehearts #heartslabyul #should I make a red flags? /j

[zegrasdrysdale]

Can you write a pregnancy scare with Jamie?

[ not our time ] j. drysdale

paring : Jamie Drysdale x fem!reader

summary : after she’s late for her period, (Y/N) tells Jamie about her suspicions and he tells her to take a pregnancy test to make sure

warning(s) : mentions of pregnancy

author’s note : i’ve been wanting to write something like this so ty for requesting :)

quick announcement : i’ve made a google form you can submit to be added to (or taken off) the taglist that will be at the end of every fic from here on out !

༺═──────────────═༻

The only reason she didn't immediately get on the phone with Jamie was because she knew he is on a plane and on his way back from his week-long roadie to the east coast. She probably won'[t even tell him when he walks in the door because she knows how tired he's going to be.

She should. She could be carrying his baby.

Getting sick when she doesn't normally throw up was definitely a red flag. Then she realized she's late for her period. She's rarely ever late.

If she is pregnant, she wants Jamie to be there if the test comes back positive. She doesn't want him to be on a plane somewhere over the United States when she finds out she's carrying their child.

Before she can talk herself out of telling Jamie, a key jingles in the door and it swings open. (Y/N) looks over at the door to see a happy Jamie walk into the apartment. "Hi, baby," Jamie says.

"Hey," she replies as Jamie pulls his equipment bag and suitcase through the front door. "How was the trip? Congratulations on the wins against Philly, Buffalo, and Washington, by the way."

Jamie leaves his equipment bag by the door with his suitcase when he is finally inside. The door closes behind him and he walks over to the couch.

He tilts (Y/N)'s head back and presses a kiss to her lips. She smiles into the upside down kiss. "Wish you could've been there," he says as he pulls back. "Z set me up for an insane goal against Philly and I can't believe that it actually went into the net. That's Trevor, I guess."

"I saw the goal," she tells him. "It was very impressive, Jamie. I'm very proud of you."

A big smile forms on Jamie's lips and (Y/N) feels her heart flutter in her chest. He's so pretty, even now when he looks exhausted.

She decides in that moment to tell him.

"So, um, I have to tell you something you should know," (Y/N) says. She watches Jamie's smile falter. "It's nothing bad, I think, but it's something you should definitely know."

Jamie walks around the couch and sits next to her. "Is everything okay?" he questions. "I mean, did something happen?"

She gnaws on her bottom lip. "It's more like something didn't happen," she admits. "I haven't gotten my period yet and I've been really sick recently. I think I might be pregnant. I haven't taken a test yet because I wanted you here in case."

Another smile breaks out on his lips. "You might be pregnant?" he asks. "Oh my God. That's amazing. Do you need me to run to the store and grab tests? Snacks? Anything you need."

"I have tests," she tells him. "I just haven't taken one yet. I've been waiting for you to get back."

"Go do it," Jamie replies. "I'll be right here when you get the results."

She nods and gets off the couch. "I'll be right here."

With shaking hands, she grabs the box of three pregnancy tests out of the drawer in the bathroom. She pees on all three of them and sets them on the sink counter while she waits for the results.

(Y/N) sits on the floor with her back against the counter that the tests are sitting on. Her head leans against the counter and her eyes are closed while she waits.

Honestly, she doesn't know what kind of results she's hoping for.

If it's positive then she will love this baby with everything in her. It's a part of both of them and she will love them with her entire heart. If it's negative then it's just not their time and they can actually try later on.

It isn't the end of the world if these tests come back negative.

A soft knock rings throughout the bathroom. "You okay?" jamie asks through the door. "Do you need anything?"

"Can you come in?" she asks.

The door slowly swings open and (Y/N) stands up in front of the tests. "Did you look yet?" She shakes her head in reply. "Come on. Lets look together, okay?"

She nods and Jamie takes her hand. With a sigh, she turns around and looks down at the tests on the countertop.

One line on every single one of them. All of them are negative.

"Maybe it's too early," she tells Jamie. "I'm only a few days late for my period." Tears prick her eyes and it surprises her. She didn't think she would be this upset at a negative pregnancy test.

Jamie's happy smile when she told him that she might be pregnant pops into her mind and it breaks her heart. The tears roll down her cheeks.

"(Y/N), baby," Jamie coos. "It's okay. It just isn't our time right now."

She wraps her arms around his torso and buries his face into his chest while silent tears run down her face. "You were so happy when I told you I thought I was pregnant," she says. "I'm sorry, Jamie."

"We'll have a baby one day," Jamie tells her. "I promise. One day those results will be positive."

(Y/N) nods and feels Jamie wrap his arms around her shoulders. "I didn't think I'd be this upset," she admits. "I haven't even thought about having kids until there was a possibly I was having a kid."

He backs away and looks down at her. "I want kids with you," Jamie tells her. "Maybe when we're both more prepared, yeah?"

"Yeah," she agrees. "And when we talk more about it."

Jamie smiles and nods in agreement. "Do you want to eat some ice cream and watch Criminal Minds?" he asks. "I think we have a little bit left if you want some ice cream."

"Absolutely."

༺═──────────────═༻

MASTERLIST

have a request ? check out the guidelines !

wanna be added to the taglist ? fill out a form !

taglist : @fanboysfangirl @dancerbailey3 (if you're crossed out, it won't let me tag you)

#hockey imagines #hockey imagine #hockey fanfiction #hockey fic #hockey oneshot #nhl imagines #nhl imagine #nhl fanfiction #nhl fic #nhl oneshot #jamie drysdale #jamie drysdale x reader #jamie drysdale fic #jamie drysdale fluff #zegrasdrysdale request

[escxelle]

i'm convinced sleep token are stem girlies because the amount of physics, maths and chemistry in their lyrics hmmm. lemme list all the references below the cut <3 (just as an fyi: this is a joke and i'm not being serious!! i'm just pointing out all the science references in their songs, dw)

alright, bit of a stretch to start but: "sulfur on your breath, granite in my chest." - granite from take me back to eden (2023). sulfur obviously being an element and granite is a rock (i'm not a chem student, i do astrophysics sorry idk anything else skdjsjd)

i'm being really picky but like "these days i'm a circuit board, integrated hardware you cannot afford." - aqua regia from take me back to eden (2023). vessel is an engineering girlie!! /j also i could point out the latin title is a mixture of nitric acid and hydrochloric acid sooo

still in aqua regia, we have "sugar on the blood cells, carbon on the brain." mhm, speak stem girlie!

aqua regia is full of stem textbooks: "oxytocin running in the ether. silicon ballrooms. subatomic interactions if it's all good. gold rush, acid flux. saturate me, i can't get enough. cold love, hot blood." so the debrief: oxytocin is a hormone. ether are a class of compounds. the rest i think is self-explanatory, as they're elements and cute little stem terms oxox

i love stretching. "your viscera welcome me in." - vore from take me back to eden (2023). viscera are the large organs inside the body, including the heart, stomach, lungs, and intestines. biology girlies!! /j

more stretching <3 "who encrypted your dark gospel in body language? synapses snap back in blissful anguish." - ascensionism from take me back to eden (2023). encryption is the process of encoding information!! a computer science girlie!! then synapses are the places where neurons connect and communicate with each other <3

"half algorithm, half deity. glitches in the code or gaps in a strange dream." who ate a programming textbook?! /j

"digital demons make the night feel heavenly." side note but i think we should start calling trolls digital demons.

"lipstick, chemtrails, red flags, pink nails." has someone maybe studied chemtrails in their chemistry classes hmmm? /j

as i'm an astrophysics student i have to mention this: "the shifting states you follow me through." - the apparition from take me back to eden (2023). states, huh? liquid turning into a solid time is it? /j

"i feel my shadown dissolving." - rain from take me back to eden (2023). a metaphor or a chemistry textbook? /j

"it's that chemical cut that i can get down with." have many chemical cuts, huh?? /j

i'm an astrophysics girlie (gn) so i have to include this one: "a dangerous disposition somehow refracted in light, reflected in sound."

"i dream in phosphorescence." - take me back to eden from take me back to eden (2023). phosphorescence is a type of photoluminescence related to fluorescence. i mean, come on! the rest lyric? really?

"sink porcelain stained, choking up brain matter and make-up. just two days since the mainframe went down and i'm still messed up." biology and software engineering much? /j

"if my fate is a bad collision." - euclid from take me back to eden (2023). collision? huh are you a particle, hm? also euclid was a greek mathematician ! currently in my special relativity notes i have written "flat euclidean space"! riddle me that, sleep token. /j

"just orbiting the vacuum i am." - atlantic from this place will become your tomb (2021). yes, orbiting like the sun and moon and planets, right?? /j

"push down into membranes and layers, creating a slow dissection." - like that from this place will become your tomb (2021). yeah we get it, you're a biology student /j

"you lie an inch apart on your own continuum." - the love you want from this place will become your tomb (2021). continuum, huh?

"and though echoing futures are the buckling sutures." - fall for me from this place will become your tomb (2021). i bet you've seen many sutures huh dr. vessel! /j

right prepare for a lot of references here folks. "she's not acid nor alkaline." - alkaline from this place will become your tomb (2021). do i really have to explain the actions of this chem girlie? /j

"ooh, let's talk about chemistry 'cause i'm dying to melt through to the heart of her molecules 'til the particles part like holy water. if anything, she's an undiscovered element." i'm sure you'd love to infodump about your favourite subject! /j

"'cause i am broken into fractions." - distraction from this place will become your tomb (2021). i bet you deal with fractions all the time, you maths nerd!! /j

"and we go beyond the farthest reaches where the light bends and wraps beneath us and i know as you collapse into me." - telomeres from this place will become your tomb (2021). light bending? how very relativity of you. also telomeres are structures made from DNA sequences and proteins found at the ends of chromosomes.

"and i choke myself on sacred vapour." - high water from this place will become your tomb (2021). vapour because it's changed state, right? /j

"keep up on the charm offensive anymore." - missing limbs from this place will become your tomb (2021). i'm doing particle physics right now so i know exactly what a charm quark is! also limbs??? hello again dr. vessel /j

"'cause i look for scarlet and you look for ultraviolet." - higher from sundowning (2019). using ultraviolet filters for your astrophotography are you?? /j

"let the impulse to love and the instinct to kill entangle to one." - say that you will from sundowning (2019). entangle? entanglement? quantum entanglement? i'm connecting the dots.

"i want to roll the numbers. i want to feel my stars align again even if the earth breaks like burnt skin." - blood sport from sundowning (2019). an astrophysics fr /j

"and somewhere, somewhere the atoms stopped fusing." more stem!

"and out there, stuck in a quantum pattern, tangled with what i never said." this is something a theoretical physicist would say is all i'm saying. /j

now you have to listen to sleep token to hear these bangers >:)

#i've been obsessively listening to nothing but st for like a straight week #the brain rot got to me okay #sleep token #elle's interests hyperfixiations and shenanigans #escxelle

[oliveroctavius]

Doesn't the decision to get involved with Sam Bullit prove Gwen was a bad person?

Hey, I've been looking for an excuse to post about this. The Sam Bullit arc isn't really about Gwen (though it certainly reveals some things about her character). The Sam Bullit arc is about racist dogwhistles and why they work.

ASM #92 pg 19: "I will bring law and order to the people of this great city! I will show no mercy to the anarchists and all others who would destroy our way of life!"

Bullit's platform is not openly white supremacist in the sense that it doesn't overtly mention race. He talks about laws and safety in a way meant to appeal to rich white voters. The true meaning should be clear to anyone with any political awareness (who are those others and what is our way of life?), so why does this rhetoric attract "otherwise rational" people?

ASM #91 pg 6: "I want to volunteer to help you--in your campaign for DA. Because--I want you to bring Spider-Man to justice!" "We need strength--strength to punish those who mock the law! I will use such strength to bring Spider-Man and others like him to justice! I will not betray your trust."

Gwen makes her decision to back Bullit on the way home from her father's funeral. There's a very real phenomenon of tough-on-crime bills named after (white) murder victims. The grief of families who feel like justice hasn't been served is a powerful tool to push harsh laws while smothering any criticism as "disrespectful" to the victims. What’s in a Name? An Empirical Analysis of Apostrophe Laws, 2020.

Bullit showed up at George Stacy's funeral with this exact goal in mind, and when Spider-Man "kidnaps" Gwen later, he leverages the media obsession with white girls in danger for his cause. Gwen is a pawn, but she did offer her help first. Her desire for closure is very human and her short-sighted reactionary faith in "the law" is very white.

Oddly absent from your "proven bad person" takeaway is J. Jonah Jameson. The Bugle lends Bullit a platform to make Gwen's personal tragedy a political talking point. JJJ has the ~Black best friend~ excuse and everything, and he still blows past red flags like crazy.

ASM #91 pg 7: "Maybe they were better days than now! At least we had law and order then." "Yeah--and lynch mobs, and bread lines, and Uncle Toms..." "Come off it, Robbie! What's wrong with a man standing for law and order, anyway?" "Maybe it just depends on whose law--and what kind of order you're talkin' about, man!"

(Another point of this arc: marginalized groups learn to recognize dogwhistles pretty quickly for survival reasons. If they tell you something is a dogwhistle and you don't see it yet, look closer.)

ASM #92 pg 9: "Parker's story just served to open Jameson's eyes--but I've kept a dossier on you. I haven't been city editor all these years for nothing! I know where your support comes from. I know about the lunatic hate groups who are backing you. I know what you really mean by law and order!"

Late in the campaign, the Bugle switches sides. This scene tends to be described as JJJ giving the racists what-for, but the moment is truly Robbie's. (Note that it took Peter getting roughed up for Jameson to take this seriously!) JJJ can yell at Bullit all he likes without consequences, but Robbie is kidnapped and threatened by white supremacists in retaliation. It's Robbie's determination to speak up that eventually puts Bullit out of the running for good.

The Bullit arc isn't there to sort characters by Bad Person and Good Person. Neither Gwen nor JJJ have to personally hate black people for their self-centered sense of safety to be weaponized by a racist agenda. This is a Stan Lee PSA about masked bigotry and how it might appeal to you even if you consider yourself a Good Person.

But for some ~mysterious~ reason, Gwen's brief agreement and Jameson's brief rejection are the only parts of these two issues I ever see brought up, with Robbie's major role not mentioned at all. Some ideas fit more neatly than others into smug ship-war quote tweets and anon asks, it seems.

#olivertxt #comics #reductionist takes from people who clearly do not care about this arc have been getting under my skin for ages #gwen stacy #robbie robertson #jjj #/ racism

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for getting someone fired over their ZOCD? (obvious zoophilia warning)

Let me start by saying I (22F) am no stranger to OCD, harm OCD specifically. I self-admitted to an institution for homicidal ideation when I was 20 (which made my mental state so much worse but this isn't about that). Anyways the point is, I have experience with intrusive thoughts.

This starts with me being in a server dedicated to OCD in general, with a channel for venting (read: VENTING) about intrusive thoughts. I'm going to call this person J (25M). J is a regular on the server and has self-described ZOCD. This first started several months ago when he posted in graphic detail his thoughts in the venting channel. Except this seemed much less like "I hate these thoughts" and MUCH more like "I hate that SOCIETY hates these thoughts and were it not in my way I would act on them". His messages would be unnecessarily graphic and with little to no... I'm not saying that you SHOULD hate yourself for intrusive thoughts but it was like "why are you in the vent channel if you don't seem to feel any guilt over this?". Anyways flash forward several month later and J mentions that he has started working at a pet shelter, saying that he feels "it could be really good exposure therapy" which. Not only do I think is an incredibly dangerous not only for you (working with children as someone with POCD or with animals as someone with ZOCD is not "exposure therapy". I do not believe it will make you act on your thoughts but it WILL make them so much worse if you are having constant contact with the fixation of said thoughts) but also J has repeatedly given off several red flags on just being an actual zoophile. He mentions the pet store by name and I'm able to find out his name just from his steam account connected to his Discord. I send an email to the chain detailing what he's said and how I believe he could be an actual threat. A few days later he's in the vent channel talking about how devastated he is after losing the first real job he had. As much as I loathe this guy I'm starting to second-guess if he was really as dangerous as I had made him out to be. So AITA???

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

[artemismoorea03]

DPxDC Writing Prompt Idea

I have no idea if this has been done before but I just had this idea so if it has been done feel free to ignore this but I gotta share this.

So, I always see these prompts of different characters being related to different DC characters. For example I've seen some where people say that Tucker is related to Lucius Fox. Dash is related to Harley Quinn. Jack being related to Bruce Wayne. Danny related to Tim/Damian/Dick or any of the other Batfam but one I haven't seen before is one that I feel could be easily used.

Maddie Fenton is related to Jim Gordon.

Now, I've never seen this or even heard people talking about it and I can kind of understand why. Maddie is shown to have a sister but like - hear me out anyways.

Maddie has a cousin, she has met him a couple of times as a kid and only once as an adult when Danny was around 7. There wasn't any real reason for it, just a Family Reunion and an excuse to spend time as a family, something she often forgot to do when she was so determined to get the Ghost Portal open.

Her cousin is Jim and his daughter is a good ten years older than Danny. She had heard that Jim was quickly rising in rank in Gotham City and that his daughter - despite the occasional odd truancy issues - had her head on straight. Jazz also adored the older girl and followed her around the entire reunion, looking almost like Barbara's little sister.

Danny got closer to Jim than his daughter though, and started talking about things that he probably shouldn't have. After all, what 7 year old has a filter? What 7 year old knows not to mention the fact that sometimes their food attacks them or that Jazz is learning how to cook because sometimes mom and dad forget to feed them because their research is important. The more Danny talks the more concerned Jim gets, but he's also conflicted.

This is his cousin, the same cousin who the time Danny fell and scraped his knee peppered kisses on each and every one of his freckles on his face and danced with him until the pain stopped and then patched him up and danced with him again. This is family. He's sure that Danny is just... making things sound bigger than they are, as children do - at least he hopes that's the case.

But on the off chance that there is something going on he slips Jazz and Danny both his number and gives his cousin the same number in case anything came up.

As the years go on though Jim starts to see more red flags. Small things at first - Jazz asking how to change the batteries in a fire alarm. Danny calling to ask if pot-lids could be stuck in the microwave to cover rice. Basic questions that could be asked to a parent or a parent should be doing for their kids anyways. But whenever Jim asked about this the answer was the same.

"Mom and Dad are busy in the lab."

This continued for years until a call from Jazz one night seven years after he'd met them for the first time. She was crying and sobbing, her voice shaking as she tries to get the words out.

"Danny had an accident. Mom and dad aren't home, what do I do?"

Jim was 900 miles away, he had no way to get to them. No way to get him to them. So he did what he could and instructed her to hang up with him and call for an ambulance. Jazz was scared though, she didn't trust the doctors but thankfully Danny's voice could be heard.

The relief Jazz had when her brother woke up was enough to make Jim feel like he was going to throw up. The call ended shortly after that but he made sure to call a few days later and ask his cousin how Danny was doing.

"Danny? He's just fine!"

"That's good. He healed from the accident then?"

"What accident- oh, Jack no, that goes to the right - your other right. Jim, sorry I have to go. We can talk about this later, okay?"

Jim was appalled. Jazz had called him in tears, hyperventilating and Danny had been unconscious - Jazz though he was dead - and their parents didn't have any idea?

It was a little over a year later that he got another call. Just as frantic, just as scared, but much worse.

Danny was all but screaming in the back ground, voices were telling him to holds still and that they knew it hurt but he was bleeding out and he needed to hold still. Terrified, hurt, betrayed voices. Jazz again explained the situation, this time eerily calm.

"I can't go into details over the phone but we're coming to Gotham City to seek Asylum against a law that will get Danny killed. We need you to keep Batman off of our tails until Danny is healed. We'll handle everything from there."

"Healed? Healed from what?" Why did these calls always happen during work. "Jazz, what is happening? You have to give me something if I'm going to protect you guys."

"... My parents cut Danny open, Jim. They cut him open and he's hurt bad. Myself, Danny, and two of our friends are on our way to you now." Jim felt like his jaw hit the floor then snapped back up so hard it gave him whiplash as he sank back in his chair. "Before you ask; no. Hospitals aren't an option. Danny isn't a meta and they weren't violating any laws when they cut him open. Which is why we need you to keep Batman away from us for as long as possible. What... what Danny is shouldn't exist and if anybody gets a hold of him they'll cut him back open, turn him into a super weapon, or destroy him."

"Then why call me. I'm a police commissioner. What makes you sure you can trust me?"

"I'm not. Neither are the others with us but the only thing Danny has said since we saved him is 'Go to Jim'. We're following his lead on this. So... I'm trusting Danny, who has his full trust in you, Jim. Don't let him down."

#dp x dc prompt #not part of any series #random prompt ideas #Danny Phantom Prompt #Batman Crossover Prompt #my prompts #dc x dp prompt

[helluva-dump]

At this point, the hazbin/helluva critical community has fallen flat. And when I say that, I mean that it lacks potential. Like, I thought we were criticizing about the characters and the show itself. I thought we were talking about it's issues and what Viv could approve on it. But now, these people are just targeting fans of Viv's show who are just going on about their day, taking screenshots of harmful posts and posting it on the critical blog just to shit on them. You can't even consider that "critical" now when you're just being an asshole. They wonder why Viv and her fans think the critics are so bad. On top of that, these people love to make assumptions about Viv harassing Gooseworx all because she's a "terrible person" like please stfu. "She probably did this" and they don't even have any proof. Maybe consider that Viv actually enjoys tadc and it's success? What is all of this "viv is mad because the amazing digital circus is more successful than her shitty shows"? I dunno, man. That critical community is just so fucking dumb and stupid. They're not even talking about the shows anymore. They just bitch and fuss about everything.

For real, I had never seen such a critical community this much of a train wreck as the fandom is.

I mean hell, I engaged with the SVTFOE community before (and that show has the EXACT same problems as Helluva boss) and the critical blogs were very chill.

I feel like what didn’t help is how immature and unprofessional Vivziepop acts publicly. But at the same time…. I can’t really blame her for getting defensive when these antis dogpile her on everything.

And yes, the screenshots making fun of harmless posts of fans were red flags to me. Like dude, we have rabid fans and Stans do that to us, why the hell are you stopping to their level??? (I’m not gonna include the voodoo controversy because that to me needed to be talked about. A lot of POC fans and criticals had every right to discuss that and Viv should had given an apology or explanation over that. With closed religions that always got stereotypes due to colonizers, you need to be careful when writing about them. )

Oh God don’t get me started on the whole Vivziepop and Gooseworks relationship assumptions… that actually annoyed me too and I’m sure there’s no bad blood with them. I get she had bad blood with Tracey and possibly Ashley, but I don’t think it’s fair to assume she’s like this with every indie creator.

Honestly, its both of their fandoms that are acting unhinged. But I even seen hardcore fans of Viv like Dani praising TADC and Gooseworks, so I doubt the whole fandom are planning to sabotage them. TADC isn’t a rain full of sunshine either, they too have so much bad apples there.

Also my big issue with this community I’ve noted some critical blogs that claim they wanna make an original series (well one already made a webcomic) but they NEVER stop bitching about Viv and go on and on how they never do this to their project… unmmm dude? If you constantly compare your project to Viv’s, your gonna lose your audience this way. This can make you come off as an a logger and a very petty person to others. Trust me, this is NOT going to make people want to be interested in your original projects.

It’s also very unprofessional to do this publicly. I get looking at bad writing motivates you how to not to things… but the constant comparing is going to make you look like a very petty person to your outside audience. And they feel like your project won’t have agency on its own without being “better than Helluva/Hazbin.” I say this because I too am working on an indie project I want to make to a webcomic. And I REALLY don’t wanna ruin my reputation that way.

That’s what Zeartist did when he made his shitty ass books and would constantly hitch and whine about twilight on his life journals. And he would always bring up his original series and how it’s “better” and how he wouldn’t write such garbage like Stephanie Meyer.

And guess what???? His books are just twilight 2.0 but even worse 😂😂😂 he ended up doing the exact same thing stephanie did, bitches out over criticism, and yeah a huge hypocritical asshat.

That’s why constantly comparing your project to another person’s to seen as better is NOT a smart idea. Please have some self awareness there if your actually planning to make a webcomic or an original series.

Also… I’ve noticed people that have beautiful startled would waste it on blind hatred. Like that “I HAtE VIVZIEPOP” blog. Like godamn, their art is beautiful but they had an unhealthy hate obsession with Viv… why waste your energy on that when you can make something better?

I’m not talking about rewrites, AUs, or redesigns because to me those are like fanfics and for fun. The stuff I do is mainly just for fanfic fun and a writing/world building exercise for me. But also a little bit of self indulgence since I sitll admire Viv’s characters. You can enjoy something without giving your support to the actual creator. I’m trying to show my support to the team behind it.

(I’m even planning to buy fan merch from one of the clean up artists on their shop. To me it’s the ethical way of getting Hazbin/Helluva merch without directly giving it to Viv but to her artists instead. )

#helluva boss critical #Hazbin hotel critical #have some self awareness yall #anon ask #ask

[tarabyte3]

The Fear Has Gripped Me, but Here I Go

(13.4k)

Fandom: The Accused (BBC)

Pairing: Liam Black/F!Reader

Summary: It was so easy to develop a crush on Liam Black. He's sweet, handsome, funny, and all of your conversations feel effortless. How could you not? Maybe it was too easy because you're starting to fall a little deeper and you can't stop calling him whenever you need a taxi.

Warnings: Explicit rating, sex, car sex, semi public sex, unprotected sex, adultery, cheating, lying, mutual pinning, romance, angst

A/N: This is a fic about the character Liam Black played by Andy Serkis in the BBC anthology show The Accused. In the show, he breaks into a woman's house, steals from her, stalks her, uses that information to get her to like him, interferes with her life, etc. None of that is shown or stated in this fic, but if you’ve watched the show, you can infer a LOT about their interactions. In the show, he also cheats on his wife and lies to both her and the other woman. That IS in this fic. Unfortunately, Liam Black is one of my poor little meow meows, so this story is also intended to be romantic. I do not condone cheating (obviously). This is fiction. It's just that Liam is a sympathetic creep, but also I want to kiss him. (Andy Serkis has rotted my brain.) | Work title is from “Breezeblocks” by alt-J.

Playlist | AO3

It's distressingly easy to get sucked into the gravity of Liam Black. The way he looks at you—stolen glances in the rearview mirror when he thinks you won't notice—makes you feel special. Beautiful.

Something worth marveling at.

That should be a red flag, but you can't remember the last time someone looked at you like that. It's more than being appreciated for your appearance or checked out by a stranger. It's as if your presence is a bright spot in his day. In the same way he might stop to appreciate the view of a valley brimming with flowers or a sunrise after a particularly long night. His expression, one of awe.

Every bit of conversation between the two of you feels so natural, too. Effortless. Like meeting up with an old friend only to pick up right where you left off years ago. And he makes you laugh in a way you haven't in so long, as if he knows the exact thing to say to get you to smile. Even when you've had a rotten day.

Especially when you've had a rotten day.

So you keep calling him when you need a ride.

After all, Liam gave you his number for that very reason, you tell yourself. It's much easier than arranging a taxi because you deal with him directly. You know it will be him showing up at your door, and he already knows where you live and is familiar with the drive. Why wouldn't you call him?

At least that's how it started. Weeks ago.

Eventually any small excuse became a reason to phone him instead of driving yourself. “Parking will be a nightmare.” “I'd rather not fight with traffic.” “What if I want to have a drink during dinner with my friends?” “I swear my car made a strange noise this morning. I shouldn't drive it until I can get it looked at, and the shop is booked out a week.”

Deep down you know it's because you want that connection. You want his attention on you. You want to catch those blue eyes in the mirror. To see the profile of his nose and warm smile from the backseat. The greying scruff of his beard. The casual flex of his arms on the steering wheel—far more muscular than you would have expected from a driver and deceptively so under his polos because the way the fabric stretches around his biceps is…enticing.

It's just a crush, you tell yourself. Nothing more than a passing fancy. It's nice to have something to indulge in. It's perfectly harmless.

But then one night, you're in Liam’s taxi because you're headed to meet some friends to see a play—your favorite play—only to discover it's his favorite play, too.

So the two of you talk enthusiastically about it the entire drive there, quoting lines and debating character motivations and themes. Once you arrive at the theater, you find that you're very disappointed to be getting out of the car. You were enjoying yourself so much that it went by too fast.

“If you need a ride home afterwards, just let me know, love.” He turns in his seat to smile at you, and the corners of his eyes crinkle in a way that's endearing. Earnest.

“It'll be awfully late.” You can't help but smile back, even as you wave off his suggestion. “I can just flag a taxi.”

“I'll already be out. It's no trouble, really,” he insists while holding up a placating hand. Then his expression softens. “A lovely woman like you shouldn't be waiting that late by yourself anyway. It's dangerous.”

You want to protest further. To say your friends will be there, too, and you'll hardly be alone. That you don't want to be a bother. But, god, he called you lovely and he looks so hopeful. Those blue eyes bore into yours and pierce your defenses. The words die on your lips.

You relent.

You'll text him from the lobby after the show, you agree. He'll come get you then.

You've never texted him before. Somehow that feels more intimate than calling him and hearing the rough timbre of his voice.

The play is wonderful.

Your favorite character was perfectly cast, and his delivery of a line makes you think of Liam—the way he quoted it from the driver's seat a mere hour before, the parody of a serious expression on his face that made you laugh. He smiled at you then, all unmasked adoration, and your heart flutters at the memory.

When it's over, you text him before you've even left your seat.

As you resist the urge to impatiently push your way through the throng of people heading for the lobby, you tell your friends you couldn't possibly go out for drinks afterwards. You're tired and you have an early morning, but you'll take that rain check! Next time, you promise. You'll even buy a round! And that seems to placate them enough that they're on their way without you.

Before they can see you getting into his cab. Before they can look too closely and see what you're trying so desperately to deny to yourself: That you're more excited to see him than you are at the thought of spending time with them.

That you want this thing you shouldn't want.

He must have been close because he's already idling in wait as you exit the building. Your expression brightens at the sight of him waving at you from the driver's window, his face bathed in the marquee lights. The bulbs reflect in his eyes, tiny pin pricks like stars, and it sets your heart racing.

Christ, he's handsome.

You briefly wonder if he stayed in the area just for you. You can't deny you like the thought, even as you try to bury it down. That's something you can dig back up and indulge in later. When you're alone.

“How was the play, love?” He asks back at you once you've settled in and closed the door. The sounds outside become muted, trapping an artificial intimacy in with you.

“Fantastic! Oh, you would have loved it,” you sigh as you buckle yourself in. “You really should get tickets while it's still going.”

“Maybe I should.” He glances one last time out the window at the people still spilling from the front doors before slowly pulling away from the curb. “I might fit in better with the matinee crowd, though.”

Your head snaps up towards him. “What does that mean?”

“Well, I'm just a lowly taxi driver. Not really night at the theater material.”

“Nonsense.” You furrow your brows at him, as though you're offended on his behalf. “You aren't just anything, and there's nothing lowly about being a taxi driver. Plus, there are no requirements for going to see a play. Art is for everyone.”

He smiles to himself, almost amused by your reaction. “It'd still be sad, yeah? A man going to the theater all by himself.”

“Not at all!” You try to ignore the thrill in your chest at the implication that he doesn't have a partner. It's something you've suspected based on past conversations, but refused to ask outright. That would have been too much like showing real interest. “I've gone by myself loads of times.”

“Really?” There's a note of disbelief in his voice, and he glances up at you in the mirror. “A beautiful woman like you, without a date?”

A heat creeps over your cheeks. You bite at your bottom lip and glance out the window to hide it. You're suddenly glad for the late hour so he can't see the bashfulness in your reflection.

“Now you sound like my mother,” you tease, trying to deflect the comment.

His laughter rings out through the car. “Oh god, I take it back!”

“Besides, it's not always easy to get a date last minute, romantic or platonic. Is it?” You raise your eyebrows at him in challenge. “Why don't you take one?”

This is the closest you've come to prying because, now that he's alluded to the fact that he's available, you can't help yourself. You have to know. Whether that's to satisfy some curiosity or because a part of you has a vested interest in his answer, you're not sure.

“If you can't get one last minute, then what hope does a washed up old driver like myself have?”

And now you know. Which actually makes all of this feel so much worse because, under the serene veil of passing street lights and quiet roads, the lines are beginning to blur.

You also want to open your mouth and say something stupid like, “Then they're idiots,” or “You’re far from washed up,” and maybe even “I’d go with you.” But you know the second that you do, it pushes this beyond the bounds of rides and cautious flirting.

You don't even know if Liam would want that. What if he's only being nice? You don't know how he talks to his other passengers. Maybe he finds the flirting fun and harmless, too, and he's not actually interested in anything more. Maybe he enjoys being your friend.

Or maybe you’re only projecting what you want to see because you're lonely and he’s easy to talk to—the first man to really pay attention to you in longer than you’d care to admit. You might just end up embarrassing yourself.

Instead, you scoff and say, “Well, it doesn't matter anyway because it's perfectly acceptable to go alone and have a lovely time.”

Regret pools in your stomach. You can't help but feel you missed an opportunity. It's too late now, though. As he chuckles warmly from the front seat and shifts his attention to the road, you know the moment has passed. Bringing it up again, saying those words out loud, will give you away.

There's a silence after that, which stretches on for several minutes. A few weeks ago it might have been comfortable, but now you can't stand it. You only get a few of these moments with him and you're nearly halfway home already. It might be a while before you see him again after this. You're wasting it!

“God, I wish I had walked the block to get a takeout after the show. I'm suddenly starving,” you blurt out, lacking anything else to say, but desperate for any chance at small talk to close the gap between you.

“Want me to stop off somewhere?” He glances up at you in the mirror.

“No!” You immediately protest, a little embarrassed. You had expected this to turn into a conversation about your favorite kinds of takeout or foods so you could learn more about him. You hadn't expected him to offer anything. “No, it's fine. It was just a terrible attempt at making conversation. I swear I'll live.”

“I can if you’d like.”

“It's already so late. Don't trouble yourself. Really!” You aren't even hungry.

When did this become so difficult? When did you go from enjoying his attention to craving it this much?

“I don't have another ride after this.” His voice lowers, barely audible now over the hum of the engine. “And I've already told you, love. For you it's never any trouble.”

Oh. The uncertainty gives way to a warmth in your chest. It settles deep into your ribs and wraps itself around your heart. How could you possibly say no now?

You also know the answer to your questions then: It became difficult when, somewhere along the way, this stopped being just a simple, harmless crush.

“Okay.” Then you hurry to add, “But only if you're sure!”

“Positive.” His profile shifts as he smiles at the road, pleased you’ve accepted his offer.

“There's Chinese on the way. Over by the old Tesco? The one that closed a few months ago?”

“I know it.”

“It's not the best, but it's open until eleven. I can order it now so you don't have to wait too long.” Then you get an idea. “Do you like noodles? Or maybe fried rice? My treat.” You hold up a finger at him when he opens his mouth to protest. “You’re nice enough to stop when you don't have to, it's the least I can do to say thank you.”

“Alright,” he sighs, his shoulders going slack with acceptance. There's something tender in his expression as his smile widens, which only makes your heart constrict further. “Yeah, I'd love some noodles.”

“Then noodles it is.” You place the order on your phone as a silence settles back over the car.

All that fuss and your attempt at conversation didn't even work.

At least you get to buy him dinner, technically speaking. But you're going to do everything you can not to dwell on that right now. Especially now that you’ve realized how far this has evolved.

A few minutes and a short detour later, and he's pulling alongside the curb once again.

“I'll be right back,” you promise before hurrying out into the night.

You feel oddly self conscious of every step as you cross the street because you can feel his eyes on you the entire way. Watching you.

He probably wants to make sure you don't get mugged or something, you tell yourself. He’s keeping an eye on you. That's all. There's no reason for your pulse to be this high.

And yet, if there's a bit more sway to your hips as you walk in the hopes it draws his gaze lower…that's just more fun, harmless flirting. Isn't it?

You're not sure anymore.

At this hour, so near to closing, the restaurant is empty. There's even someone taking down tables in the dining area. The sight of it makes you feel guilty as you give them a nod of greeting. Your disastrous attempt at small talk probably prevented the kitchen from being in the same half cleaned state as well. Just add it to the list of inconveniences, you think.

It only takes a few more minutes for your order to be finished, much to your relief. You’d hate to keep Liam waiting because it's already fourteen to eleven, and you don't want him to start regretting being nice. It also means you don't have time to stand there and start second guessing yourself either, which is the last thing you need right now.

When you exit the restaurant, you notice the air has shifted. It smells damp now, like it might rain. Even the night sky is quickly growing darker as the stars are swallowed by clouds, all the telltale signs of an encroaching late summer storm. So you jog back towards the cab, clutching the takeout bag and praying it holds off.

But as your fingers brush the door handle, you hesitate.

It's late and there's not another car or soul on the street. It's just the two of you, and you've gotten both of you food. It seems almost silly to sit in the backseat now, or to pretend there's much of a separation anymore. Even as friends.

That's what you tell yourself as you head to the passenger door instead.

Liam doesn't say anything. He just watches you climb into the front seat of his taxi. When you finally meet his eyes, you can see uncertainty on his face, but of what you're not sure.

“Is this okay?” You keep the door held open in doubt, giving yourself the option of escape. “I thought it would be easier...you know, with the food.”

“Yeah.” His voice is quiet, and the wary, low gravel of it matches his expression. He glances down at the steering wheel. “Yeah, it's fine.”

Far too late you wonder if you've made a mistake.

“I'm sorry,” you gasp as you move for the door. “I should have asked first. I can get in back.”

“Wait!” His hand shoots out as if he wants to grab your arm—to keep you there—but he stops just short of touching you, still keeping that distance. He lets it hover for a second, hesitant, before lowering it back to his seat, and you swear you see his fingers twitch. Your skin tingles at the near contact. “Stay. Please.”

You take a moment to study his face, to make sure it's actually what he wants. That he isn't just being polite now that you're already in, despite his own comfort.

The genuine plea you see there makes your heart ache.

“Okay,” you say softly.

You shut the door.

Then it's quiet once again except for the rustling of the bag as you settle it on your lap. Except now there's a tension in the air that's never been there before. It's as if you brought the storm into the cab with you and have just sealed it inside. Maybe you have made a mistake.

This had always been so easy.

When there was the clear separation of a car seat between you, you both knew where you stood. Liam up front, you in back. Driver and passenger. The physical distance kept things safe. Without that, you feel unsteady, too—unsure of how to act and unsure where this is going.

You think about that heavy scent of ozone and warm concrete on the breeze outside—about the possibility of rain—and suddenly you know what you want. You know why you got in front and what your heart has been telling you all night: You want to see your possibility. What this thing between you could be.

Despite your nerves, you want him. All you have to do is continue closing the distance.

You're pretty sure that you can't make things any more awkward than they already are, at the very least. Even if you somehow manage it, you doubt he’ll throw you out of his taxi. Why would he? He’s only ever been sweet to you. So the worst he can say is no, you think, as if that wouldn't break your heart.

“I don't know how you feel about food in your cab, but we could sit here and eat before it gets cold. Together. If you want.” You try to sound casual, but hope bleeds into your voice and betrays the truth of what you're really offering him: you. Something more.

You spent weeks being careful to never cross that line while telling yourself that's what you actually wanted. That you were fine simply having something to indulge in. But now that you've finally done it, you don't know why it took you so long or how you’ve been so blind. Because as you look at him, with his snug polo, trimmed hair and beard, his full lips, and his hooded blue eyes, you wouldn't take it back for anything.

Only…that uncertainty reappears on his face. An internal struggle which deepens the lines on his forehead, pinches his brow, and causes his mouth to thin into a frown. He knows agreeing to this would mean crossing that line with you and moving forward. Except where you have hope, he seems conflicted by the possibility.

You wonder if all the flirting and stolen glances felt harmless to him, too, because he never dreamed you’d want him back. And now that you do…

“You don't need to be getting home? It's late," he says helplessly. Half-heartedly. That's when you realize: he thinks he should tell you no, but he just can't bring himself to say it. So he's offering you an excuse instead, hoping that you’ll do it for him.

Of all the ways you saw this going, you never imagined this—that he would want you and still reject you.

You want so badly to ask why, to understand, but this hurts more than a simple no would, and the fear of what he might say stills your tongue. It could just be self-deprecation on his part, the ingrained belief that he's a washed up old driver…but what if the reason is you? Imagining the pity on his face as he tries to let you down gently turns your stomach.

Despite that, you find you can't say no either. Now that you've finally realized that you want this, how do you let it go? To be the one to end it before it's even begun. You don't have the strength.

You suppose that makes the both of you cowards.

“I've got nowhere to be tomorrow, but if you do, that's alright, Liam,” you offer instead. A lie the two of you can cling to. “I don't want to keep you any longer than I already have.”

He shakes his head. “That's not it.”

Oh.

“Either way, don't worry about it,” you quickly blurt out to stop him from saying anything more. “Forget I said—”

“No!” His voice breaks as he interrupts you, stunning you to silence. “No.”

He struggles for a moment to find the words while searching your face, as if he might find the answer there. As if you might make it easier for him somehow. He must find something because then he's staring at you with the determination of a man who's made a decision, consequences be damned, and you let out a shaky breath you didn't realize you’d been holding.

“There’s nowhere I’d rather be.”

Oh.

Your heart falters for a moment, lurching with violence against your ribcage, before it stutters with renewed hope.

There's a rumble of thunder outside—the sound of possibility shifting into inevitability.

“Me either,” you whisper.

“Then, yeah.” His face softens. And he’s back to looking at you in a way you’re used to, the way he secretly would in his rearview mirror, but something between you has shifted. There's a new intensity to his gaze that takes your breath away. “I’d love to.”

“I’m glad.” Feeling bold at that look in his eyes and desperate to ease some of the lingering tension, you add, “Besides, this is much better than eating reheated takeout alone in my apartment. The company is far better.”

You can tell it works when he relaxes further in his seat.

“Yeah?” A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth as he raises his eyebrows at you.

“Yeah.”

“And I suppose it does smell really good, yeah? Be a shame to waste it.”

“It really does.” You huff out a laugh as you dig into the bag, relieved to have something to do with your hands that isn't clenching them uselessly in your lap. “Plus, now you don't have to listen to my stomach growl for the rest of the drive.”

He laughs along with you, but it quickly turns into a teasing grin. “Well, I’m glad I could save you the embarrassment.”

“My hero,” you say playfully, which finally earns you a full, real smile. The kind that crinkles the corners of his eyes and makes your heart skip a beat. Before you can get distracted staring at him, you pull out the disposable utensils and hold them up between you. “Now, fork or chopsticks?"

He sheepishly takes the fork, and it's your turn to give him a teasing grin.

You fall back into easy conversation as you both tuck into your takeout containers. The tension between you is gone now, having dissipated under the familiar—though it'll be impossible to forget just how close he is or the way he lingers in your field of vision no matter where you look.

You’ve positioned yourself in your seat so you're half facing him, and you notice he's removed his seatbelt and done the same. There's an intimacy to the way both of your knees are turned in towards each other, unable to touch but still seeking one another out.

There it is again, you think. The gravity of him, pulling you in. You bend to him like light.

While you eat, it begins to rain. Or rather, it begins to downpour, the drops thumping and echoing off the metal body of the taxi. They coat the windows in streaks, leaving the world outside blurred—a hazy refraction of streetlights and muted color.

The combination of darkness and being shut inside the car already made it feel like there was a barrier separating the two of you from the outside, but now you feel even more cocooned from the rest of the world. In fact, you’re finding it hard to remember anything else exists beyond the interior of this cab. This moment.

Him.

Another silence settles over you as you eat and listen to the rain, but this one is comforting. As though just existing next to each other is enough. It's easy in a way that makes your heart sing.

He breaks it by clearing his throat.

“Seriously, how do you use those? I’ve never gotten the hang of it.” He gestures to your hand holding the chopsticks.

You pause mid bite, your food frozen in the air as you look up at him. “Do you want me to show you?”

“You can try, but I should warn you, I'm all thumbs when it comes to that,” he laughs and looks away, self-conscious.

You’ve seen that expression on his face a few times now. Glimpses past the easy smiles and the effortless conversations into how he sees himself. You wonder again if that was the reason he hesitated earlier. Suddenly you want to show him the man you see. The one that’s attentive when you speak and makes you feel seen. Who always cheers you up with his presence and went out of his way when you said you were hungry. The man who's never said no to you, even when you’ve called him at the last minute and were certain he was busy.

You wish you could find the way to say all of that out loud.

Instead, you raise an eyebrow and stick the uneaten bite back into the container. “That sounds like a challenge.”

“It's really not,” he says with a helpless laugh, but you're determined now.

You get a fresh set for him. Then you go about demonstrating the placement in your hand and the way you use your fingers to manipulate the utensils to pick up your food. He copies you, though his own movements are stiff and awkward. There's also a vulnerability to the way he keeps glancing up at you to see if he's doing it correctly and looking for approval.

“You’ve almost got it! It just takes practice,” you reassure him. He gives you a small smile in return, his blue eyes full of gratitude. When he tries again, he’s more relaxed and confident, and the chopsticks move with far more ease.

It's a much better look on him, you think.

You also spend the entire time resisting the urge to reach out and shape his fingers around the thin pieces of wood. Because if you touched his hands, god help you, you might not be able to stop. The idea is so tempting, though, and it only gets worse the longer you focus on the curve and press of his thick fingers.

You imagine what it would be like to have them grazing over your cheek and down your neck, or dipping along your inner thigh and dragging against your slit. There's a sudden throb of need between your legs at the thought. Now the air of the cab feels stifling, electric with a different energy, but he's so focused on what he's doing, he doesn't seem to notice the way you squirm in your seat.

Instead, you offer tips to help him get it right—from a distance, where it's safe for the time being and you're less likely to do something brash, like grab him and kiss him.

After some more practice, he makes a few unsuccessful attempts to eat and has to stop to pick dropped noodles off of his shirt and lap with a sigh while you giggle next to him. Until, finally, an entire bite makes it from the takeout container to his mouth without spilling.

“I did it!” He beams proudly at you as he chews, those blue eyes now wide and lit up with excitement. And god, it's adorable…except there's a bit of noodle stuck in his beard. You press your lips together to keep from bursting into laughter at him in his moment of triumph. He catches on anyway, and his face falls slightly in confusion. "What?"

"You've got some noodle. Right here." You point at your own face.

He quickly runs a hand over his mouth to wipe it away, but all that does is push the noodle farther down his chin. "Did I get it?"

"No!" You snort out a sharp laugh at his look of panic. So he sets his takeout carton on the center console near the gearshift for a more serious attempt, but his palm scrapes uselessly at his face again. “It's lower now.”

“Glad you're enjoying this.” He tries to sound offended, but there's a twinkle of amusement in his eyes as he feels around for the elusive bit of food, betraying how much he’s enjoying this, too.

"Here." You set your takeout next to his. And then you don't think before you lean across the center console, your hand stretched out and reaching towards him. "It's right…"

You genuinely meant to help and put him out of his misery, but by the time you realize what you're doing, your fingertips are already brushing through the coarse hair of his beard, the why of it completely forgotten. Now you can no longer help yourself. You’ve finally touched him, and he feels so warm and alive beneath your hand.

Your fingers curl against his chin. Then, almost with a mind of their own, they inch towards his jaw, seeking more. You want to run them over his cheeks. His temple. His smile lines. Along the bridge of his nose. His lips. You want to feel out every bit of his face and commit it to memory.

You don't want to let go.

And you nearly don’t stop until a heavy exhale from him sends you crashing back to reality. The one where you're basically groping him instead of helping. You also notice the noodle bit has long since fallen away and landed somewhere unseen onto his lap.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry!" You gasp in horror. You start to pull away to search for it because, after that, you're too embarrassed to even look at him. But you’ve barely removed your hand when he grabs your wrist, firmly keeping you in place just inches from his face. Your eyes snap up to meet his.

Neither of you moves. Or speaks.

For several tense seconds, the only sound in the car is the rhythmic patter of rain and your heavy breathing as you stare at each other.

The moment stretches between you like a wire, thick and coiled taut, and you're terrified to pull away. Or push closer. As if doing so might snap the tension and ruin whatever this is. Instead, you sit there, frozen at the way his eyes become half-lidded, barely lessening the now undisguised longing in his gaze.

Just when you think it's become too much and you're going to break under the intensity of it all, his thumb brushes against the delicate skin of your wrist, directly over your pulse, sending a shiver through you. And that small touch alone is enough to make all of this profoundly, achingly, real. Distantly you wonder if he can feel the frantic drumming of your heart. Because by now it's pounding so hard with anticipation, your ribs flex with every beat.

He brings your hand back towards his face and rests it against his cheek. As he does, you're mortified to realize you're trembling in his grasp. He must notice as well because, without a word, he flattens his own hand over yours, anchoring and calming between beard and flesh. His eyes dip nearly closed at the sensation, and he nuzzles into your touch, letting the corner of his mouth graze your palm.

You watch as there's the slightest purse of his lips, a shade of a kiss onto your skin, and you suck in a gasp.

He reaches out for you, then. You think he's going to mimic the gesture and cup your face, but instead his knuckles graze along your cheek. He takes a moment to trace and explore the contour of your cheekbone in awe before continuing on, gliding past the shell of your ear, until he's cupping the back of your neck instead with his thumb resting on your jaw. His hand feels massive as it envelops you, the span of it completely covering your nape, making you feel bird-boned in his grasp. But everything about his touch is so tender, so affectionate, that it never occurs to you to feel vulnerable.

Quite the opposite. Combined with his captivated expression, which is so intense that it borders on grief, he's found a new way to make you feel special.

Wanted.

Gently, he begins to guide you towards him as he leans in and stares at your lips. There's no doubting his intentions.

You go willingly. Lead to him. Pulled to him. Sucked so far into that gravity, you’d still be moving even if he let go.

"Liam," you exhale into the shrinking space between you, finally giving voice to your desire.

His fingers flex against your neck at the sound of his name, but he still doesn't stop or speak. His hand continues to guide you closer. Slow and steady. As if he's giving you plenty of time to put an end to this. To pull away and tell him you don't want it. But you do. You want it so much that you almost forget to breathe.

As his lips ghost against yours, your eyes flutter shut. You instinctively push forward, trying to close the distance between you, but he moves away before you can fully capture his mouth. Then he goes back to brushing his lips over yours, cutting off your protest and taking in your sighs and quivers.

It's almost teasing, the way he's taking his time and savoring every step of this—of you—and there's a confidence to his movements you weren't expecting. As if, now that he's gotten you, he knows exactly what he wants to do with you while you're swept along in his wake.

Except you’ve thought about this moment so many times. Indulged in the fantasy of what it might feel like to have his lips against you as his tongue eagerly explores the heat of your mouth. Now you're so close to getting what you want, too, and the anticipation is building into an agonized yearning every second he’s just out of reach.

You're on the verge of whimpering or pleading when he finally, truly, kisses you.

Any thought you might have had is gone. The pressure of his lips, his mouth slotting against yours, his relieved exhale across your skin—the combination makes you dizzy with need. A moan is torn from your throat.

The sound breaks whatever gentle spell had a hold of him because, just like that, his arms are around you, and he's kissing you hungrily.

At first it's desperate. Nothing more than a messy searching of lips before you find your rhythm. Then every bit of it is better than you imagined—the scrape of his beard, his nose nudging into yours, a brief graze of his tongue along your bottom lip before it retreats, leaving you wanting more. And god, do you want more.

As if he knows what you're thinking—or maybe you've said it out loud—he tightens his hold around you and pulls you towards his seat, his mouth never leaving yours. But you don't have time to admire how strong he is as you scramble blindly to get your legs under you. In your haste, your knee hits one of the takeout containers, which sends it toppling over.

You break the kiss to gasp out, "I think it spilled."

"I don't care," he murmurs and captures your mouth again. This time his tongue lingers at the seam of your lips. As you open up to him and taste him for the first time, you decide you don't care either.

You finish climbing into his lap. Every movement is clumsy in the limited space, all groping hands and fumbling limbs. You have to squeeze past the steering wheel and keep your head low so you don't bump it into the roof of the cab. The position is also a bit awkward as you try to find enough purchase to settle your knees on either side of his hips. You even have to adjust your dress to keep it from getting in the way, which forces the hem mid thigh.

None of that matters once you're finally settled. Because, when you lower your weight into his lap, you find him rock hard beneath you. And the only thing separating your bare sex from that impressive bulge in his pants is a pair of lacy panties. You can almost feel the warmth of his cock radiating through the denim.

"Fuck, Liam," you hiss.

You can't start grinding onto him just yet, though, because he quickly reaches between you to adjust himself over his jeans. It's something so intimate and casual—something he has to do because of you—that it's devastatingly sexy. That alone is enough to make your cheeks and neck burn. But when his hand grips over the tented fabric and slides along his length, for a brief moment it sharpens the outline of his erection in his fist, and it sends heat racing between your thighs, leaving you aching. Your hips shift involuntarily at the sudden pressure.

“Better,” he sighs in relief. Then his hands squeeze around your waist to drag you down as his hips roll up to meet you, and you see stars.

Before you’ve even recovered, he draws you back in for another heated kiss. You're so fixated on his mouth, so ravenous for him, you don't notice when he blindly gropes between the seat and the door. So when the seat tilts back all the way without warning, you barely catch yourself with your hands at the last minute to stop from falling forward and smashing your face into his. The motion is such a jolt that you cry out in surprise against his lips. You feel his curl into a smile.

It doesn't last long. The new angle gives your hips the freedom of movement to slide over the full length of him, and the friction makes your arousal thrum with anticipation. His eyes roll shut with a groan.

While he’s distracted, you take a moment to appreciate him like this—the flutter of his eyelashes, his kiss swollen lips, and the way the rain dappled streetlight bathes over his flushed skin. When he opens his eyes again and catches you staring, his expression softens.

Your breath hitches at the sight. Christ, he’s so fucking handsome.

You suddenly realize you don't have to just look anymore. Despite the heat of this moment, you can finally satisfy the urge to run your fingers over his face. So, without hesitation, you reach out and touch his jaw again. Only this time, you don't stop. You gently map out all of his lines and wrinkles, relish the contrast in softness between his skin and beard, and trace along his lips—all while he stares up at you in half-lidded awe.

“God, you're amazing, love.” His voice is low and gravelly as he nuzzles up against your jaw. “The most amazing woman I’ve ever met in my life.”

Your eyes fall closed with a shiver, letting the vibrations of it wash over you, but you don't respond. How can you? What could you possibly say to that? 

His thumb caresses over your cheek.

“Look at me,” he coaxes in a soft tone. You slowly open your eyes again to meet his. When you do, he gives you a gentle smile. “I mean it. I've wanted you from the moment you got into my cab.”

Oh.

“I want you, too, Liam,” you finally admit quietly, your own voice thick with emotion.

“I'm still trying to let that sink in.” He shakes his head. “That someone as incredible as you could want someone like me.”

“Of course I do. How could I not?” You sound defensive, but you can't help it. You feel that familiar need to make him see himself the way you do. “I think you're amazing, too.”

“Jesus.” He lets out a heavy sigh. Then he glances down between you, seemingly overwhelmed by your statement.

“Why do you think I kept calling you?” You chuckle breathlessly. “I’ve been making plans and finding any excuse I could just so I had a reason to see you and be in your cab. You had to have suspected I didn't actually need that many rides.”

“I hoped.” His eyes meet yours again and that intensity is back. The muscle in his jaw clenches, making your heart skip a beat. “God, did I hope.”

“It took me far too long to realize just how much.” You lean in to place a slightly heated kiss onto his lips. Then, in a husky voice, you add, “I should have done this ages ago.”

"I don't deserve this," he groans as his hand tightens with rekindling lust around your waist, “but I could never say no to you.”

"Don't I deserve it?" He sucks in a breath beneath you. You let the tip of your nose brush against his as you lower to a whisper. "No one's ever made me feel the way you do, Liam. So please…make me feel even better."

His arms engulf you to capture your lips, just as you start to move over him again.

You continue to kiss as you ride that bulge in his jeans, the stiffness and friction sending delicious sparks up through your core while desire pools between your legs. Every roll of your hips draws needy sounds from your throat and little grunts from his as he rocks up to meet you.

His hands never stop roaming. Up your thighs, a quick squeeze of your ass, and tracing the curve of your waist. Then flattening to drag across your back, stroking along your ribs, and teasing with uncertainty over the swell of your breasts before cupping your cheeks. He leaves flames in his wake.

Yours never stop either. You want to finally run your fingers through his hair. To feel the thickness of his neck and the way the tendons in his jaw flex as he kisses you before wandering lower. And god, those fucking polos do him no favors because underneath you can feel the hard muscle of his chest and shoulders. They've softened somewhat with age, especially at his belly, but it just makes him feel solid beneath you. Steady. Like something you could hold onto.

Every new part of him you touch only makes you want him more.

All of your heavy breathing is trapped inside the taxi, making the air feel thick with humidity. With nowhere to go, condensation is starting to gather on the windows and settle across any exposed skin. It's stifling. You have to keep reminding yourself that you're in a car to stop from ripping your dress off. A part of you still thinks it's a wonderful idea.

Another part reminds you that you don't need to take it off.

You break the kiss.

"I want you, Liam,” you lean in to whisper in his ear. “Right here. Right now." 

He shudders with a groan. Then he gently guides you back by the shoulder so he can look into your face. “Right here? You're sure?”

You nod. “It's dark and I've waited long enough. I want you inside of me.”

“Fuck,” he whimpers, and his cock throbs beneath you. “I told you I could never say no to you.”

You gather the hem of your dress, pulling it back and out of the way so both of you can see the way you're pressed against his straining erection. Your need for him is liquid. It's been pouring from you. By now it's completely drenched your underwear, soaking them through. Only it didn't stop there because there's also a rather large damp spot on his jeans from all of your grinding. He groans helplessly again at the sight of it.

“See?” You purr down to him.

“Christ, love,” he chokes out. “Look at you.”

He grasps your bare thighs, kneading at your flesh before sliding them higher and making you shiver—until those large hands are framing your barely covered sex. He takes a second to admire you further through half-lidded eyes. Then he hooks a thumb into your panties and pulls them aside. When your arousal is exposed, a moan gets strangled in his throat, and his clothed hips buck towards you, desperate to bury himself in you already.

Your hands shoot to the fly of his jeans to fight with the button, eager to uncover him as well…just as a thumb brushes over your slit. Instead, your whole body jerks at the contact and you nearly collapse against him. Your grip goes slack.

His expression turns smug at your reaction. So he does it again—harder this time—and the tip of his thumb slips easily past your folds, making you cry out. Then he teases circles at your entrance, smearing through your slick, and you nearly sob into his shirt.

“You feel so good already.” He sounds distracted now, as though he's more focused on what he's doing than how you’re responding. He presses again, sinking until he's knuckle deep, and his lips part with a gasp, enthralled by the way his thumb vanishes inside of you. And, god, even the thickness of that leaves you breathless and writhing. Then he teases you some more at this depth, testing how your walls flutter greedily around him, before slowly drawing back out and dragging some of your fluids over your clit. Your hips pitch forward into his hand with a moan. “Can't wait to get my cock in you.”

“Please,” you beg. All of his teasing and petting has left you helpless, and your trembling fingers move uselessly over his fly, “I can't…”

That seems to get his attention.

He removes his hand and you whimper at the loss…until he takes over for you, making fast, if a bit fumbled, work of his button and zip. Then you're eager to have something even better buried inside of you. So you quickly make room for him as he lifts up and pushes his pants and underwear down to his knees.

When he settles, you finally get to have a look at what you’ve only felt up to this point, and the sight of him makes you feel weak. Because he’s sitting beneath you in his polo, and his hard cock is resting over the fabric still covering his belly.

He’s thick and uncut and twitching under your gaze, and you just know wrapping your hand around him would make you feel small by comparison. Your fingers itch to find out. You can also see a trail of hair disappearing under the hem of his shirt.

You're fighting with the urge to rip the offending piece of clothing up over his head to see just how far up it goes and whether or not it connects with that greying tuft of curls peeking out of the top when he wraps a hand around himself.

Your mind blanks.

You watch, dumbfound, as he begins stroking—working his length until the foreskin slides back to reveal the head, flushed and swollen and leaking in want of you. 

The sudden stab of arousal in your core is dagger sharp, leaving you breathless.

“Fuck,” you rasp out, and it sounds as shaky as you feel, “I need you.”

His hand grasps at the base of his erection, keeping the foreskin drawn back and holding himself steady in invitation. When he meets your eyes, you see months of longing and need on his face. How he’s ached for this—would beg to have it if you asked.

You don't hesitate. You make sure your panties stay pulled to the side as you raise yourself to your knees. You wish you had taken them off, but you're far too impatient to stop now. How could you when he's right there, throbbing in his own fist and practically begging you to take him?

With one hand bunched in the fabric of your dress and one braced on his shoulder, you shift into position over him. His tip nudges against you, effortlessly gliding through your folds until he catches at your entrance. Exactly where you need him.

You lower onto him. There's a brief moment of resistance and adjustment at the unfamiliar angle. Then the head of his cock breeches your opening as you both let out twin gasps.

Slowly, you sink onto his length, your walls stretching around him as he fills you, inch by agonizing inch.

He makes it past the halfway point before his patience runs out. He grabs your hips, fingers and thumbs spearing into flesh, and pulls you the rest of the way down onto his cock.

The sound that leaves your mouth is almost as filthy as the one that leaves his.

He keeps you there, unmoving and fully sheathed while he twitches inside of you, and a sob of relief escapes his throat. His eyes are heavy lidded, those full lips are pouting and parted, and his brows are scrunched together in an expression akin to agony.

You're certain you’ll never forget the sight of him in that moment, undone by your cunt.

You drop the skirt of your dress so you can brace against his chest. The fabric falls back into place, hiding the evidence of where you're joined. It’s not unlike when you were just sitting in his lap, grinding over your clothes. Only this time you’re straddling his bare hips and stretched full of him.

You start to move.

The rain has stopped, but outside the drops still linger, glistening and clinging to every surface. Inside, the condensation is now fully coating the glass from your hot breath coming out in sharp pants as you ride his cock. It leaves the world beyond the cab opaque, only leaking through in the trails left by heavy beads of moisture.

He braces himself by planting his feet on the floor of the cab and leaning back against the headrest, using the pressure as extra leverage. Then he's lifting to meet your hips.

"I’ve dreamed of this," he moans as he ruts into you. He doesn't stop staring up into your face—taking in every expression and quiver and noise you make with those intense, blue eyes. His mouth falls open for a moment before he gasps out, “God, your cunt is so sweet.”

You’ve never felt so seen. Wanted. In that moment, you're so utterly sucked in by the gravity of him that you crash your lips against his, desperate to be closer.

His hands bite into your hips as he forces you to keep rocking onto him. You distantly realize the car is rocking with you—that anyone could see and know what's happening—but you can't bring yourself to care. Not when you have him whimpering and groaning into your mouth with his cock inside of you.

Everything about this is fast and messy, but the buildup alone has left both of you nearly frantic with need. You're not even sure how long you’ve been doing this. It's been hours since he kissed you. It's been minutes since he kissed you.

Your overworked thighs are burning, but you refuse to stop. Pressure is building and intensifying quickly inside your core, driving you on and beckoning you to keep moving until you find your release.

His grasp has gotten so tight that his fingers are nearly digging into bone, and he's no longer holding back every whimper or stutter that works its way to his throat. You know he's close, too.

A hand finds your thigh and disappears under the fabric of your dress. He clasps the bend of your hip, and then that thumb that drove you nearly mad earlier is rubbing circles over your clit. You're gutted by the sudden pleasure.

“Want you to come for me, love,” he murmurs up to you as he moves faster between your legs, his hips and thumb working together to destroy you. “Never wanted anything more.”

“Don't stop!” You gasp. You're trembling now. Your thighs are quivering against his hips and the movement has become hard to control, leaving your pace jerky and uneven as you rock over him. “Please!”

“Could never say no to you.” His voice is hoarse and strained as he struggles to hold himself back until you come undone first.

“Liam!” Your hands clutch at his shirt.

“That’s it. Let me see you.”

That last bit of friction is all you need to send warmth exploding through you, and then you’re coming on his cock. You throw your head back with a wail. It scrapes against the roof of the taxi, but you barely notice. Every part of you is consumed with that numbing relief. The way your stretched walls convulse around him. The sound that spills out of him.

If he wasn't holding you up and forcing you to keep moving out of desperation, you’d dissolve in his hands.

Every muscle in his body is taut, strained as he keeps driving into your still pulsing heat. There's ruin on his face when his hips begin to stutter beneath you. Then he slams you onto his cock with a moan and finally comes inside of you.

The throbbing warmth of it fills you with more than a physical gratification. Your heart skips a beat at the way he lethargically works through his orgasm, rocking deep within you. At how his face is now slackened with pleasure, that contentment only broken by the occasional hiss and a shudder from aftershocks—when the sensation of you becomes too much.

You could get addicted to this feeling.

Once both of you are spent and still, you sit there in his lap, gasping for air. His stomach rises and falls against yours while his thumb draws a mindless pattern near the bend in your hip. His touch is warm, even against the ambient heat of the taxi.

Sweat pools along your hairline and back and runs between your breasts. Your body is covered in it, and his skin is similarly glistening. As you’re watching, a drop rolls past the hollow of his throat before disappearing into that tantalizing mess of chest hair left uncovered by his undone top buttons. You wonder what it would be like to nuzzle into it and inhale the masculine scent of sweat and sex before dragging your tongue along his sternum to taste it.

“You okay?” He pants up at you, pulling you out of your daze.

You huff out a laugh as you nod. “Pretty fantastic, actually.”

“Yeah?” He smiles, still breathless.

“Yeah.”

You want to lay against him, snuggle your head under his chin, and stay like that for hours, relishing in this newfound connection. But now that the high is wearing off, you’re very aware you’ve just had sex in the driver's seat of a car. You didn't even move to the backseat or drive to a secluded parking lot! It's a position that’s not only quite public despite the opaque windows, but would require you to contort your body into an uncomfortable shape to do so. Which, regrettably, isn't very ideal for cuddling.

You hadn't been thinking that far ahead at the time.

You give him one last lingering kiss, reluctant to part from him, even as you know you have to at some point anyway. Then you lift yourself off of his lap while swallowing a whimper at both the loss and the surge of wetness between your legs now getting half caught in your askew underwear.

Climbing back into the passenger seat is a slow process because your legs are weak and wobbly, but he gives you a steady hand to lean into. One that engulfs your smaller hand as it wraps around you. You try not to imagine him holding you like this, fingers laced and palms kissing, or else you might not let go.

You both stop to laugh when you bump your head on the roof of the cab.

As you get settled and somewhat put back together, an awkward silence encompasses the taxi. It's not tense like when you got into the front seat. Rather, it's unsure in a different way. It's as if both of you want to say something, but you can't find the right words. Or maybe, without the haze of arousal, they don't come as easily despite the way they build and sit in the back of your throat.

Instead, you take a moment to survey the damage from your earlier fumbling. Thankfully, the takeout spill was minor with only a few of the noodles escaping the carton. He quickly picks them up, and you toss the containers back into the bag.

He rolls down the windows, letting the rain cooled air in to clear the fogged glass and the heavy musk of sex. It feels heavenly on your skin. You lean back in your seat, basking in the light breeze, the weightlessness in your chest, the burning in your thighs, and, most of all, the ache and damp between your legs.

You both still maintain that quiet the rest of the drive with only the low din of the radio in the background. None of the songs register, though, because your mind is too busy racing with thoughts of what happens next.

There's an unbidden hope blooming inside of you that this was more than just sex. You try to rein it in before it takes over and suffocates you with expectation because some part of you is still terrified you’ll end up heartbroken. But every time you glance over at him—take in the profile of his nose and lips, the strong curve of his jaw, the wisp of his eyelashes—you know it's far too late for that.

Instead, you sit there with your heart pounding, wishing you could read his mind and admiring the way the light dances across his face whenever you pass under a streetlight. You can tell when he catches you because he turns to give you a lopsided smile. One he used to shoot back at you in the reflection of his rearview mirror, and the full force of it makes your cheeks burn and your heart flutter before it's too much and you have to look away.

Each time that hope digs in a little more.

Eventually, he pulls the cab along the curb in front of your building. It's the same spot he’s parked in dozens of times, but it looks almost foreign now from the front seat. Or maybe it just feels that way because everything about this situation is so new.

He shuts off the engine, leaving the space in silence as he glances over at you.

This is where you usually part ways. Where you thank him for the ride and pay. Then you climb out, tell him you hope he has a lovely evening, and you leave.

None of that feels right, though. Not after what’s happened between you. More than that, you don't want to walk away as though nothing's changed. Because for you everything has.

So what do you do now? Do you thank him for the wonderful sex? Ask him to dinner? Do you kiss him goodnight and tell him you'll call him later? It's what you would do with anyone else, but with him it's not enough.

Now that you have him, you don't want to let go.

"Would you…" You trail off, suddenly timid. Even though your underwear and thighs are still smeared with this man's come, you know there's so much left unspoken between you. Things you want to give voice to so that the two of you can continue to move forward towards something more intimate and meaningful than car sex. However, doing so is another opportunity to get hurt if he doesn't feel the same way.

Except now you’ve opened your mouth and he's staring at you expectantly, waiting for you to continue. But more importantly: on his face you see that same look of hope reflected back at you.

He wants this, too.

Your anxiety evaporates.

"Would you like to come in?”

His smile is both relieved and tender. He nods.

That's how you end up in your bed with Liam on top of you, entrenched between your legs, cock buried inside of you, and taking you again.

It's different this time. Slower. While the fever and desperation are gone, there's a heavier need churning in their wake. Something between you that was left unsatisfied before.

Now you're wrapped up in each other—a calf tucked behind his knee, and your thigh gripping his hip where he's bent over you. One of his hands is stroking along your hair, and the other is squeezing your waist, holding you in place as his fingers dig divots into your flesh. Your own palms cradle his jaw, cupping him like water to your parched lips.

Through it all, his forehead is pressed to yours, and he gazes down into your eyes from beneath hungry lids. Even if you wanted to, you can't look away from that blue. You're held there, pinned to the bed from the weight of it because even the physical weight of him is nothing compared to the longing you see in those depths.

In the taxi, your closeness was a given. It was overwhelming in the small space, thick like the humidity of your breath, hanging in the air and pressing back in on you. Now it's suffocating in a different way. In the openness of your bedroom, it clings to you. Needy. Touch starved. Terrified that one of you will vanish at the slightest give.

The two of you are so close, you can feel his heavy breath on your face. You can hear the voiceless sounds he makes whenever he buries himself inside of you at just the right angle, each one right there and so loud in the silence.

It's different in that way, too: Neither of you has said a word since you took his hand and stumbled to your bedroom. No pleas or praise. Not when you tore each other's clothes off and finally saw what was waiting for you underneath—the hard panes and curves of him, tan lines and hair, a freckle on his chest, the way his cock hangs thick between his thighs and twitches in your hand. Not even when his fingers dragged over your still wet folds with a groan. Instead, your voices are replaced with sighs and moans and each slick press into your heat.

You don't think you could speak anyway.

He’s fucking you completely breathless. Not from the effort. Not from the way his core flexes and his back rounds every time he thrusts into you. Each steady plunge, a slide and drag of bodies—his chest hair across your nipples, his stomach against yours, his groin grinding into your clit in a maddening friction. No, it's the unmasked passion of it that leaves your heart pounding and your breath caught in your throat.

He fucks you like he watches you: with a sense of reverence. Like he can't believe he has the privilege.

Maybe fuck isn't the right word, then. Because the way his hand moves to cradle the back of your head, thumb grazing behind your ear, feels more like an act of worship than your desperate coupling in the driver's seat of his cab, takeout spilled across the center console.

You've never had sex like this before. Not even with the few people you've whispered I love yous to. The word for it hovers, nameless and heady in the inch of space between you. He breathes it out over your skin, and then you catch it and inhale it into your lungs. As it passes your lips, you can taste it on the tip of your tongue.

You're so close to figuring it out when he angles your head to the side, baring your neck to him and nuzzling his face into the exposed flesh, and your thoughts evaporate. He takes a moment to nose over your pulse, inhaling your scent and warmth with a moan. Then, finally, he’s placing hungry, open mouthed kisses along the column of your throat. It feels so much like he's trying to devour you, that you brace for a sinking of teeth which never comes.

Instead, the scratch of his beard sends a shiver through you, leaving you quivering and covered in goosebumps beneath him. It's too much—sensation, tension, emotion.

It's not enough.

You roll your hips to meet his rhythm, and he lets out a ragged groan—pain and pleasure spilling from his chest. His next plunge is deeper. Harder. Something sparks inside of you.

“Liam,” you gasp, breaking the silence.

Then he’s kissing you, his tongue chasing the sound of his own name into the wet heat of your mouth. So you offer it to him again, a plea for more.

He relents.

He grabs one of your legs and bends it towards your chest, folding you and opening you further to him. This new angle completely traps your clit in the friction of his thrusts.

You grasp at anything you can reach to ground yourself against the onslaught. One of your hands fists your sheet, bunching the fabric in a tight knuckled grip. The other curls through the trimmed hair at the base of his skull. But there isn't enough there to hold onto, and your fingers claw uselessly at his scalp.

The effect it has on him is immediate.

Your nails drag a moan and a full bodied shudder from him. Suddenly his pace becomes urgent, each thrust now punctuated by the joining of skin on skin and a slight shifting along the mattress.

You can feel how close he is from the way he’s tensing against the pleasure building inside of him. From the way he whimpers and clutches back at you, trying to hold on as well. To keep this going just a little longer.

Knowing that his loss of control, that sense of desperation, is because of you, sends you reeling. It isn't long before your legs are quaking against him and your chest is stuttering from your shallow gasps. Every rock of his hips coaxes you further from your control. You can feel your grasp of it slipping, pulling you off balance as you sink deeper into him.

You arch off the mattress—bending as if drawn to him—while every muscle in your body is locked in that moment between tension and release. Then one more moan from him as he rubs against your clit, and you finally break.

Your orgasm shatters white hot at your core, splintering up to churn in your gut and burn through your chest, before resonating outward along every one of your nerve endings, only to recede and start all over again.

As you come, the only thought in your lust fogged brain is him on top of you. Inside of you. The grip he has on your waist. So when your mouth falls open to suck air into your strangled lungs, on the exhale his name spills from your lips.

He looks wrecked by the sound. He buries himself into your fluttering cunt, needing to feel how your walls tighten and clench around him. You protest the sudden loss of friction before your body instinctively seeks it out. You mindlessly grind your hips up against him, riding out the last of your orgasm on his cock until he can't take it anymore.

He grabs you and fucks you, just as mindlessly grunting and rutting into you as he chases his own release. He stares down between you to where his body is joined with yours, watching the way his cock disappears into your folds, his expression stern with concentration. Under the light of the street lamp leaking through your window, sweat glistens on his forehead.

A deep rumble starts in his chest, something half caught between a growl and a whine. His pace quickly becomes erratic, and every time his hips meet yours, you can feel the way he's trembling. You know he's moments from letting go.

You bring your fingers to his chin and force his attention up until his eyes find yours. And god they're so blue, even unfocused in the dim streetlight. Though you're still dazed, you’ve never seen something so beautiful.

“Look at me, Liam,” you breathe out. “I want to see you.”

That's all it takes. His face crumples in agony, and he comes with a sob of relief. He manages a few final thrusts, shuddering and panting his way through each one, until he's finally spent. All the while, his cock twitches and throbs as he fills you for a second time.

You’ve done this once already tonight, but it was different then. The distance was still there while you untangled yourself from his lap, climbed back into the passenger seat, and adjusted your dress. In the way he quietly righted the container of noodles as you struggled to find the words to fill the silence.

This time you don't part.

Instead, he settles in close, pulls you to him, and lays his head on your shoulder with a sigh. In return, you kiss his hair, taking a moment to savor the scent of him—sweat and shampoo and lingering cigarette smoke—and the softness of the thick waves over your lips, before resting your cheek on the crown of his head.

There's nothing between you now. No car seat, no clothes, no more distance.

This is what was missing before in the taxi. This is what you both wanted—what you should have had instead—because this is so easy. As easy as laughter or smiles shared in his rearview mirror. 

And it all feels so right. Even though you’ve made yourself vulnerable in his arms, the way he holds you and caresses your palm with his fingertips keeps any further uncertainty or doubt about what this is between you at bay. You know what this is. 

You’ve spent months falling for this man, bit by bit. Every time you called him for a ride. Every glance, every simple gesture, every time he made you laugh or lean forward in your seat to find some way to be closer to him. It all sucked you in a little more each time, pulled you into depths you couldn't fathom—more than a crush or attraction or something as simple as affection—and it took you far too long to notice. Now your eyes and your chest burn with the realization.

As if he can sense what you're thinking, he pulls back to place a trail of feather light kisses along the side of your face. You close your eyes, letting the tenderness of it wash over you.

“Stay.” The wave of emotion chokes your voice to a whisper. It's a plea. A hope.

“There's nowhere I'd rather be, love,” he whispers back against your temple. Then he hugs you tight, and there's nowhere you’d rather be either than there in his arms, lulled to sleep by his steady heartbeat and his even breaths across your skin.

It's when he thinks you're asleep that Liam untangles himself, and then sneaks out of your bed and steps into the hallway, carefully shutting the door behind him.

At first you think he's gone to use the bathroom and doesn't want to wake you. Which is sweet! In fact, you're smiling over just how sweet and considerate he is—how content and blissful he’s made you feel—when you hear his voice from down the hall.

It sounds as if he's having a hushed conversation with someone, but that's impossible. There's no one else here. Is he talking to himself then?

You’ve never heard his voice sound like this before, either. He’s frustrated. Annoyed, almost. Nothing like the man that smiles at you from the front seat and asks about your day.

You nearly sit up and call out to him in confusion when—Oh. Wait. No. He’s on the phone, you realize.

At nearly half one in the morning.

He's being quiet enough that, if you were asleep, you probably would have slept through it. On top of that, his words are muffled by the door. So, even though you strain to listen, you don't catch everything he says.

You still hear plenty.

He makes up a story about driving someone…somewhere outside of the city. A request he couldn't say no to, apparently, but you miss his explanation as to why. It's not a big deal, he insists. It's not.

At the end of the call, he says he'll be home in the morning. That you catch.

Then silence falls over you once again.

None of that is true. Obviously. He’s standing naked in your hall, and he’s going to spend the night in your bed, decidedly not driving anywhere.

Which means he was lying on the phone.

You quickly piece together that means he lied to you, too. And the only reason he would have to lie at all, to keep you a secret, is if he isn't actually single. Which also means—

He made you the other woman.

Suddenly, the way he struggled with all of this makes perfect, horrible sense. It was never about you. He always wanted you. It was about his decision to say yes, to give in to what he wanted, despite the consequences and what it would mean.

You're still letting that sink in when he slips back into the room, and you have no idea what to do about it. You need a minute to fucking think. So you try to appear exactly as he left you: undisturbed, curled on your side, and facing the wall. Asleep.

On the inside, however, your heart is breaking.

It happens slowly. At first you're so numb from the shock, and the ache in your chest is so sharp, that the pain takes a moment to register. Like slicing your palm open with a knife and waiting for the wound to bleed. When it finally does, the agony leaves you breathless. You can feel it twisting in your gut, searing through your fingers, and clawing its way up your throat until you're choking on it. Your eyes sting from the pain.

Through it all, you focus on keeping your breathing deep and even to calm your frantic nerves and the trembling of your bottom lip. 

He crawls quietly back into bed behind you, clearly believing you're still asleep and trying not to wake you. You try not to stiffen in response.

You're not even sure why you're faking anymore. Perhaps you're still working to get over the shock from the hurt and betrayal. Maybe you want to believe you misunderstood the conversation, even though you know you didn't. Or maybe you’re still trying to figure out what to even say to him.

He lied to you.

Worse, you thought you found something real and lasting with a man that made you smile and feel special—one you felt a connection to. In retrospect, you should have known it was too good to be true, but you wanted it to be. You wanted that so badly. Wanted him.

You feel like such an idiot.

What was this, then? Did he just use you for sex? Were all of those glances and smiles over the course of months faked just for this? How could he have faked even a moment of what you just experienced? The way he looked into your eyes as he… God, even remembering it causes your heart to flutter and heat to pool in your stomach, despite your emotional anguish. You swallow down a sob.

Instead of tucking back into bed, though, he sits there and watches you sleep. You can feel his heavy gaze on the side of your face and the way it lingers before trailing down the outline of your body under the blanket, oblivious to your inner grief or how you lay there bleeding. It lasts several long minutes—longer than you would have thought was possible to watch someone sleep. But it's as if he’s content at the sight of you.

Just when you're finally ready to open your eyes and confront him, to demand the truth, his hand reaches out to stroke over your temple and your cheek. His touch is delicate. He’s still being careful not to wake you as his fingertips ghost across your skin. Then he sighs and it sounds like your name. You didn't think a single breath could carry so much awe and longing.

You didn't think your name could ever sound like that.

He continues to explore and caress you further, gently mapping out the curve of your jaw and the shell of your ear…all while he thinks you're still sleeping. When you couldn't possibly know what he's doing and there's no need for a performance.

Which means he's doing it because he wants to touch you like this.

And every second of it is far more gentle than his voice was the entire time he was on the phone. The voice he didn't say “I love you” in before he hung up, you realize. You're not sure what it means, but it feels important to note.

Because maybe…maybe he wasn't faking anything. Not about how he feels, at least. Not about you.

As your thoughts race, you realize he never actually said he was single either, just that he couldn't get a date to the play or would have to go alone. Sure, the implication was there, and it was a fair assumption to make, but he never said the words out loud. You also wonder what else that means for the state of his relationship, and whether or not it makes any difference. Assuming he was telling the truth at all. Though something about the way he said it makes you believe that part, at least, wasn't a lie.

What are you doing? You know your mental gymnastics and excuses are pathetic. You should have some self respect! Hell, you should kick him out of your apartment and your life for what he's done! But…you just can't bring yourself to do it.

Despite everything, you're still caught in the gravity of him.

Finally, he lays down in the bed and wraps an arm around you, curling himself against your back. His hand splays across your belly, keeping you held to him as he scoots in closer. He's warm and solid, and you can't help but melt into him, skin on skin, as he snuggles into your neck. You love the way his nose instinctively finds all of the sensitive spots that make you gasp, as if he's done this before. As if he knows you.

You fit together perfectly.

You want to stay there, surrounded by him—to let him alleviate the pain he’s caused you and fall asleep for real. Instead, you roll over in his arms.

Your eyes are open now so you can look at him. After all of this, you need to see him in this new light and face the truth of him. You have to know if you can.

When your eyes meet his, there's an expression of yearning and hope on his face that's so profound, your heart aches again, but for a much different reason.

He’s looking at you as though he's a damned man and you're his salvation.

“Sorry if I woke you, love,” he whispers. He cups your jaw in his hand, and his thumb soothes over your cheek in apology.

It's not the apology you need. Not yet. You’ll get that in the morning. Then, afterwards, you’ll have the talk about where you go from here and how he's going to fix this.

Because, as he leans forward to kiss your forehead, his contented sigh warm on your skin, you realize you’ve already made a decision.

“It's okay, Liam,” you reply in a whisper. “I don't care, just as long as you come back to me.”

A/N: I left the play vague for Reader Insert/Choose Your Own Adventure purposes, but the one I had in mind for ME, because it's my absolute favorite, is The Importance of Being Earnest by Oscar Wilde (it was actually, in a strange way, also one of my inspirations while writing this). Which is about a man that leads a double life and pretends to be someone he isn't, only to discover at the end of the play that he essentially IS the man he's been pretending to be and has been all along without knowing. There are parts of Liam that are real and earnest, he just doesn't believe they're enough. He despises his life and the man he's become so much, is so desperate to escape them, that he can't imagine anyone else not feeling the same way about the real him. Except, in this story with this slightly different version of Liam (who's been removed from the events of the episode), that connection IS real. He never needed to lie to get Reader to laugh and fall for him or see a glimmer of the real him. But Liam is a sad, wet, desperate little shit of a man and does anyway. (He’s lucky he's hot.) Fingers crossed that he, too, learns the vital importance of being earnest. Also Earnest's eyes are blue. 😌

#liam black #liam black x reader #liam black x f!reader #x reader #the fear has gripped me but here i go fic #the accused #the accused (bbc) #andy serkis #fanfiction

[aelinfireheartgalathynius]

The discourse about Sarah J Maas being called a Zionist is giving witch hunt vibes at this point. Nothing I've seen has been conclusive at all. Just because she's a Jewish woman who went on birthright doesn't mean you should loudly denounce her as supporting genocide.

I am a Jewish woman who is pro-Palestine — so, not a Zionist — but who loves her Jewish diaspora culture. I have anti-zionist and non-zionist Jewish friends who went on Birthright because it's a free trip abroad. I know Jewish people who are staunch Israel supporters and I have Jewish friends going to pro-Palestine protests. Jews are not all one thing, and in fact it's ingrained in our culture that we have NEVER been one thing. There are Jews of all races, of all levels of religious belief, across the political and socioeconomic spectrum, scattered across the world.

If I were a semi-public figure (I say semi because Sarah has been clear that she is not the one posting on her public accounts and she doesn't have much interaction with fans outside of tours) people would probably have loud assumptions about me being a Zionist because I am publicly Jewish, I was a Jewish Studies minor in college, and I used to work at a synagogue. Guess what? I'm not a Zionist. I donate to UNWRA monthly, I do my clicks for Palestine, and I do my best to support with what I have. As a multi-disabled person that's all I can handle right now. If I were a semi-public figure I don't know if I would feel comfortable posting anything publicly either, because people are vicious and terrifying creatures. Sarah has a husband and child. She had gotten threats about fucking ship wars. This is so much more intense than ship wars.

Making these loud assumptions and calling for boycotting SJM, commenting on her social posts even though she isn't the one reading those comments — this is what antisemitism looks like. I know those of you who are angry at Sarah won't want to hear that, or will say that 'everything is antisemitic now' — which is a refrain that should raise red flags since it's the same argument other people use about transphobia, homophobia, racism, etc. You're the good guys, you support Palestine and you're anti-genocide and so on. But using stereotypes about an ethnic group to make assumptions and harass an individual of that ethnic group is not a good look even if you're convinced you're doing it for a good reason. Take that energy and put it toward spreading awareness, contacting politicians, attending protests, maybe even sharing messages from public figures who have posted publicly.

I understand that a lot of non-Jews (and a small number of Jews) are saying that it "has nothing to do" with Sarah being Jewish, it's just that she hasn't "used her platform." I implore you to consider why you are seeing and sharing such anger toward this one (fairly private) Jewish woman and not toward other prominent authors, especially those who are more active online, who have also not spoken out. Do some soul-searching and many of you may find that because Sarah is Jewish, you feel that she owes you a public stance more than other people. Because she is Jewish you feel confident enough to make an assumption about her views and post publicly about these assumptions. That is antisemitism at work. That is why this feels like a witch hunt to me, and why it is upsetting to watch.

As a reminder, I am pro-Palestine. I am not posting this to defend anyone. I am posting this to remind everyone that Jews are not all Zionists. Jews are not all one thing, ever. And deciding you get to hand down judgement on a Jewish person who has not shared their views publicly is antisemitism. It is deciding that you can assume negative things about Jewish people from afar. It is deciding that some antisemitism is actually okay — good, even, if you think it's warranted. I understand that people have other qualms with her writing, but those are not tied to her Jewishness, they're tied to her doing things like using the name Illyria and Illyrians for her ACOTAR series, etc, which is the kind of thing other fantasy authors have done over the years. Doesn't make it good or right but it certainly doesn't have anything to do with Palestine or Zionism.

If you disagree with me, please do not send hatred into my inbox. I am asking you to interact with this post thoughtfully. If your disagreement is going to be an explanation of how Jewish people owe the world every ounce of our energy, health, safety and lives, please step away and take a breath. I do not share your opinion. I have great admiration for those risking life and limb, risking jobs, risking arrest, to support Palestine. However, not everyone should be *required* to do all of those things, especially if you're disproportionately expecting those larger actions from Jews, thinking we "owe" it to the world.

Also, I want to be clear: This is not really about whether Sarah is a Zionist. It's about the fact that we don't know, and you cannot pretend to know. Most of the arguments I'm seeing are making a lot of assumptions, and that is the part that makes me uncomfortable.

If Sarah ends up being a Zionist, I still stand by this post, because it isn't about defending Sarah, it's about my hurt and disappointment in seeing people make assumptions rooted in antisemitism, assuming someone's views based on Jewishness and little else.

#“but her grandma was in the idf!” okay do you agree with everything your grandparents do because i definitely dont #“but she's been to Israel!” ok is everyone who's ever been to Russia anti-Ukraine? #“but she writes characters and places inspired by Jewish history / the Torah!” once again guys Judaism is not Zionism pls say it with me #“but she should be using her platform and if she isnt then she clearly is a zionist!” please read this post #“but she's done shitty things in her books so her track record is bad!” um people are allowed to have varying flaws #this is not an all or nothing thing she can do questionable things with her writing as a white woman and that doesnt mean she is a zionist? #please don't send hate to my inbox because of this post im so tired

[roses-dreams-andthorns]

I am incredibly obsessed with Octatrio and completely blinded by their charm from their red flags…

can i request please octatrio came to ramshackle just to visit but suddenly they heard reader sing I guess I’m in love and they felt the sadness of the tone reader sing made them concerned and surprised reader hold picture of them 🫣

IM SORRY IF THIS TOO MUCH YOU CAN IGNORE IT SHSBSJSNS

the song got me so flustered when i stare at octatrio fanart and groovy card 😭

Trey just listened to that song and I- its so cute-

GN! Reader (any pronouns, they/them used)

Floyd

Oh dear... silly little Floyd... As soon as he walks into Ramshackle, he just hears your glorious voice, the lyrics saddening, throwing him into a mood swing and making him worried and sad... what happened to little shrimpy? Did someone hurt them? Why are they sad? He was desperate to find out, and give you a big sqeeze to cheer you up, until he gets into your room... and sees a picture of him and you in your hand while you sing.

"And why do I get so nervous when I look into your eyes? Butterflies can't stop me falling for you." you sang, staring at the picture, and so cue another mood swing, and now Floyd is in a silly mood again with a big mixture of happy and giddy, he can't contain it anymore, so he runs up behind you and gives you a big squeeze, causing you to jump slightly.

"Shrimpy!! I didn't know you liked me that much!! Hehehehehe!" he laughs, smiling at you with his classic sharp-toothed grin, making you blush slightly...

"Uhhh, y-yeah uhm.... how long were you there?" you ask him, embarrassed you were caught.

"Eh, I just got here a minute ago! Your voice is so pretty shrimpy... but you had me worried.... I thought someone hurt you..." he sighed, looking sad. Instantly making you feel guilty.

"I'm sorry..." you say regretfully, but then he hugs you again.

"Hehehe, it's okay, shrimpy! Let's go out together sometime!"

Jade

A beautiful voice you have... how sorrowful you sound, how sweet you look with that picture of him in your hand... He was initally worried when he first came in and heard you singing such a sorrowful song, but as soon as he saw you with the picture of him, he knew what was going on... You're in love with him, aren't you? He is not far too surprised, he has seen the way you look at him, even the slightest stare from you tells him loads, how you instantly turn your head quickly as soon as he acknowledges your staring...

"But I know now I've found the one I love..." you sang, you voice ringing in his ears like his favorite tune, he wishes not to interupt, but he must make his presence known sooner or later...

"A glorious voice you have, darling." he says as he approaches you, making you instantly turn your head back to look at him.

"Eh? J-Jade??? How long have you been there??" you ask, panicked.

"Oh, a little while, I didn't wish to interupt your glorious voice, but...." He leans closer to you, a sly grin plastering his face. "I couldn't wait to tell you how much I loved you..."

Your face turns a bright red, Jade chuckles, "Besides that, my darling, could you continue? Your song was lovely, I want to hear more."

Azul

He was rather confused... who hurt you? must he send the tweels after them? or should he teach them a lesson himself? Until he realized you were singing just to sing, and you were holding a photo of him that you had taken not too long ago, that be was gracious enough to smile for. His face lit up in blush, he was unsure of what to do or say... he liked you as well, obviously, but he was at a loss for words! Had he known you had already liked him, he probably would've been more prepared and chill about this... but he was too oblivious to see the signs, I suppose...

"And Darling this is more than anything I felt before, you're everything that I want, but I didn't think I'd find someone who is worth the wait of all the years of my heartbreak, but I know now I found the one." you sang, your voice stuck in his head as he panicked, what would he say when you finally noticed he was there? What would you say to him?

He tried his best to calm himself down until he heard you get closer...

"But now I know I've found the one I love..." you sang into his ear, making him basically explode, his face all red from embarrassment, you chuckled at his reaction as he was still at a loss for words, struggling to get even one word out of his mouth, he couldn't say it right now... but he loved you too.

(Trey is slowly but surely beginning to love Azul)

#twisted wonderland #disney twst #azul ashengrotto x reader #azul ashengrotto #floyd leech x reader #floyd leech #jade leech x reader #jade leech #octotrio

[vorish-wonderland]

Some poor unfortunate soul broke contract and got himself... punished. You walk in on it happening. Floyd wants to punish you in the same way, only problem is... you haven't made a contract.

Includes: soft/safe vore, unwilling prey

★✦Wanna Join The Fun~?✦★

☆ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ☆ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ☆ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ☆ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ☆ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ

You heard so many strange noises from further down the hallway... just what is going on?

You keep walking towards the source, wondering what it could be. Then, you heard a contented sigh and someone start talking.

"Theeeeeere we go... see? That wasn't so hard, was it~?"

Oh, that sounds like Floyd. Wonder what he's up to!

"You're gonna be in there for a while, y'got that? Struggle and scream all you want, I'm not letting you out~"

...

Huh, that seems weird. What's he talking about...?

"By the way, it's gonna hurt. Ehehe, ya scared~? Oh, but you wanted this, yeah? You wanted to break contract. You wanted to rebel against Azul. And look where it got you."

That's when you found him.

Floyd was sitting on the floor, looking very full. As in, you could actively see the shape of what he's just eaten. A full person. A full, living person.

Suddenly, he gasped and turned his head towards you. He had the biggest smile on his face.

"Heeeeeeya Little Shrimpy~!" He said, waving at you. "Howsit goin'~?"

"You can... do that...?" You asked.

"Eh? Do what?"

"Uh... t-that." You said, pointing slightly nervously at his stomach.

"Is this meant to be impressive or something? Can humans... not do this?" Floyd asked, genuinely confused.

"Not typically, no..."

"Haha! Are ya jealous of me~?"

"Not really..."

Floyd stared at you for a moment, before smirking and patting his stomach.

"Are ya jealous of this guy~?"

"W-what?! No, o-of course not!"

"Aha~! You're so pink, now you really look like a shrimp!" Floyd licked his lips. "But... you keep looking at it... d'you wanna touch it~?"

"Touch it-?!"

"Yeah~! C'mon, it'll be fun, you'll like it!" Floyd leaned forward, resting his head on his bulging stomach. "I won't bite you or anything~"

Should you?

Is this a good idea?

No, it can't be, but...

You are deathly curious...

You cautiously began walking towards Floyd.

You kneeled down and nervously placed a hand on it. You could feel the person moving. You could almost hear them too...

"Hey, Shrimpy..." Floyd grabbed your other hand tightly. "Wanna join the fun~?"

"Fun...?"

Floyd brought your hand up to his face.

"Yeah~! Ehehe... you're clearly jealous of this guy... but you don't have to be! You can join him if you want~"

"N-no, that's fine, I... I don't-"

"Too bad~!"

Floyd shoved your hand into his mouth, horrifying you.

You pulled your hand away from him, and you ran away as fast as you could.

"Aww... I was really hoping I'd get to eat 'em..." Floyd pouted.

You ran absolutely as fast as you could through the hallways of Octavinelle, thoughts racing through your head. Floyd really just tried to eat you! Well yeah, obviously! He made it very clear he wanted to! Why are you surprised?!

As you ran, you slammed full force into someone.

"Ah-! Now what was that for?" The person asked, turning around. "Oh, hello, (Y/N). Whatever is the matter?"

"Oh! J-Jade..." You sighed. "Your brother... h-he just tried... to eat me..."

"Oh dear, yes he does that sometimes. Would you like me to hide you if you're scared?"

"Um... y-yes please..."

"Ok, just close your eyes. I'll tell you when you can open them again." Jade told you as he pulled out his magic pen. "This specific spell hides the subject using light and as such can really hurt your eyes if they are open while the spell is casted."

"Alright, that, uh... that makes sense..."

You closed your eyes.

You ignored all the red flags such as your body feeling strange, the feeling of you being grabbed, and the sudden heat, as those could absolutely just be other side effects of the spell.......

"You can open your eyes (Y/N)."

You did as asked and-

Oh great.

You're tiny.

And you're in his mouth.

Amazing.

This is exactly what you needed right now.

Regardless of which option you decided to choose, the result was the same. You ended up in the stomach of an eel. Great.

Jade walked through the hallways of the dorm, searching for his brother.

Eventually he finds him, Floyd very nearly falling asleep on the floor of the hallway with an entire person inside of him.

"Floyd."

"-Huh? Yeah?" He asked, being snapped out of his sleepiness. "Ohhhhhhh, heya Jade!"

"I assume that's someone who's broken contract?"

"Yeah yeah, don't worry... just punishing 'im like Azul asked me to."

"Just be sure to let him out before you fully fall asleep. Remember that we aren't allowed to kill people here."

"Uh-huh, yeah..." Floyd dismissively said. "Oh! By the way, 've you seen Shrimpy anywhere~? I tried to eat them earlier but they got away... I really wanna feel 'em squirm around in there, ehehe~!"

"I have not seen them but I will let you know if I do."

Jade began to walk away, reminding his brother to let the poor soul go.

"(Y/N), I hope you realize that even though I've hidden you temporarily, the next time he sees you he will eat you." Jade informed you when he was far enough away from his brother. "My apologies. You'll be fine long as you remember to struggle for him, he enjoys that, he'll enjoy it even more since it's you. Anyways, the point is you'll be safe, so don't worry too much, but make sure to make it fun for him... fufu, you don't want him to get bored while you're in his stomach, do you~?"

You sighed.

Something tells you that tomorrow is gonna be a looooong day...

#i call that the bait and switch #you get it? bait? like what you use to catch fish? #man i'm so funny #safe vore #soft vore #twst vore #twisted wonderland vore #gt vore #same size vore #floyd leech #jade leech #twisted wonderland x reader #v.ore #v/ore #floyd leech x reader #jade leech x reader

[sagittariusmars2]

(Top to bottom) love advice from celebrities

Pile 1

I see that Greta Garbo, Jane Austin and Marquis De Sade have love advice for you, I see that Greta wants you to be more comfortable in your independence and don’t be so quick to be dependent on someone. Jane wants you get out of the mindset that you have yo have a partner or that you will never find love because things aren’t going how you expected, have more fun and be optimistic. Marquis wants you to know that life is full of ups and downs so you gotta learn how to enjoy the ride, don’t change who you are to be more suitable for anyone and be more honest. Signs- cancer, Scorpio, Gemini. Initials- B, Q, C

Pile 2

I see that Marlene Dietrich, Ernest Hemingway, Bianca Del Rio, and Melina Trump have love advice for you. Marlene wants you to be more comfortable in your feminine energy or be more comfortable dressing up, be comfortable with having the spotlight on you and getting compliments. Ernest wants you to know how rare pure love is and you shouldn’t allow just anyone to have access to it, having strong boundaries keep the bad energy away. Melina wants you to take more pride in your appearance and have more confidence, spend more time with the people you care about. Bianca wants you to know that you have potential you haven’t tapped in to yet because you’re holding your self back with your pessimism, don’t think you’re meant to be alone because that’s the type of thinking that causes blocks in ur life. Signs- Scorpio, Capricorn, Pisces, Virgo, Aries. Initial- U, T

Pile 3

I see that Gala Dali, Joan Collins, and Britney Spears have love advice for you. Britney wants you to understand that love can be risky but that doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t give it ur all every time, take more risks and spend time with the people you love. Gala wants you to take the time you have alone to grow and ground yourself so that you’re ready for when ur person comes, Joan wants you to have more confidence/tap into ur potential and know that you can have anyone you want. Signs- Taurus, Gemini, Leo. Initials- U, E, Z

Pile 4

I see that Oscar Wilde, Henry the 8th, and Queen Victoria have love advice for you. Henry wants you to act more like royalty because you deserve the absolute best, to attract the best you have to believe you’re the best. Oscar wants you to be more aware of the people that just want to use you, pay attention to red flags/your intuition more and don’t fall for temptation. Queen Victoria wants you to know how important you are and know that you’re the catch so people should chase u not the other way around, don’t be tempted by pretty things and make sure you’re looking for stability. Signs- Leo, virgo,libra. Initials- J, V, O, U, C

Personal readings always available, please watch my 18+ pick a card reading on YouTube

#cancer #virgo #capricorn #aquarius #saturn #earth signs #intuitive #intuitive readings #oracle reading #tarot #tarot reading #tarotcommunity #cartomancy #oracle #pac #spirituality #love reading #love advice #general reading #tarot readers of tumblr #tarotblr #tarot pick a pile #oraclereader #oracle reader #oracle cards #oracle community #intuitive reading #intuitive reader #card divination #divination

[mare-noctis-studios]

Meeting the Team

David Rossi

Every minute that passes, you regret your decision more and more. Your date, the moderately good looking detective from your last case, barely paused for breath in the latest 10 minute tirade on the nuances of the MPD geo-political social structure. At least the tiramisu was decent.

“The real key to climbing the ladder is to get invited to the superintendent’s golfing weekends. Once you’re in that circle and prove yourself, you’re a shoe-in for the table at the awards gala. Now once you hit that-“

Your phone buzzed quietly. Never had your prayed for a case before but lady luck seems forgiving today.

The Real Housewives of the BAU

JJ -       Date night? Just checking in. I can have backup there in 5 - let me know.

Damn.

Em -     This was the hot detective from MPD right?

Thanks J, but it’s a strike-out. Bottle of rosé and a movie is what this night needs, not a run-down of how to sleep with the boss - Y/N

P.G. -   Ohhh honey, that bad?

Yeah. Unfortunately.

P.G. -   Hugs and kisses

Jake’s tirade only seemed to be ramping up, now having moved on to the fishing trip aboard the superintendent’s yacht, a sweat breaking out on his hairline, you can see the thin rivulets evident of a spray tan running down the side of his neck.

“Excuse me” you say, slipping your phone into your handbag and standing up. “Just need the ladies.”

The bathroom was empty and you take a moment to breathe, staring at yourself in the mirror. Soft light washes over the makeup you applied especially for tonight, something a little more elegant than your usual daily routine – making you sigh. The dress was new - technically it was bought a few months ago for a date that never happened – an emerald green evening gown that in hindsight was far too fancy for the “fine dining” Italian restaurant you were promised.

~ If you wanna be my lover, you gotta get with- ~

“Garcia” you answer immediately, picking a stray eyelash off your cheek. “As much as I like to believe the world is getting better please tell me you have a case”

“That I do, honey-bunches.” Garcia’s bubbly voice. “It is the worst of them all though, missing kid in Seattle snatched an hour ago. Get here soon.”

Damn. There’s a problem.

“I didn’t drive here. I’ve got to get a taxi or something, I might be a bit longer” you say, picking your clutch up and heading out the door. You round the corner when you pull up short.

“That mother-“

“Everything ok honey?”

You flag down your waiter and he hands you the bill, posture awkward as your jaw dropped.

“Penelope you find that sonofabitch and you give him every red light between here and the west coast, he left without paying his bill and he ordered the freaking $80 steak!”

“Oh that bastard!” you hear Penelope gasp, the sounds of furious typing echoing down the line. “Hang tight honey, Rossi is in the area. He’s coming to pick you up.”

The chill of the evening air cut through your dress like you weren’t wearing it at all, and you forgot to bring a jacket in the rush to leave, wrapping your arms tighter around your abdomen. You should have known better, you realise. You’d seen the signs in his behaviour when you worked together, you saw. You knew, and yet…

A warm hand on your arm jolted you from the musings, turning to find Rossi there with a half-cocked smile on his face.

“I take it date night was a bust?”

“In more ways than one” you mutter, storming off towards his car. A hand hooked around your elbow just before you could open the door and you stumbled, falling into the side of Rossi with a grunt.

“Hold your horses tesoro” he said gently, taking off the suit jacket and wrapping it around your shoulders. “I think I need to give this guy a lesson on how to treat a lady.” He opens the car door and helps you inside, turning up the heat once he’s driving and takes a look at the receipt crumpled in your fist.

“How was the food?” he said after a few minutes silence, the soft chatter of the radio distracting you from the thoughts of the night.

“Disappointing. You would have been horrified to hear what they called ‘authentic’ Italian.” You laugh, pulling the jacket a little tighter around your shoulders and leant against the window. “You know, he told me we were supposed to go to ‘Ciccio’ but we were too far down on the waitlist.”

“Hence the nice dress?” Rossi said with a knowing smile. “’Ciccio’ its supposed to be one of the best new restaurants in town”

You sigh again, pulling the jacket even tighter. “A pretty poor debut for this dress but at least I finally got to wear it.”

~

You flop down on one of the bench seats with a groan, smiling and the gentle squeeze Emily gave your shoulder.

“As much as I’m glad that case ended well, I’m exhausted.” You say, finally hauling yourself up and into one of the proper seats, letting your head rest on your arms as the team prepare for take off.

“You chased the unsub at a sprint for almost an hour Y/N, have you considered doing the FBI triathlon?” Hotch asked, sitting next to you, while the snort of derision came from Rossi who sat opposite.

“Suckering more people into your health cult Hotch? I might have to stage an intervention.”

The sounds of chatter and the general ambiance of flight lulled you into a deep sleep, waking only once you landed safely in Virginia. Rossi offered you a lift back to the bullpen to grab your things and it wasn’t until you saw Penelope holding two garment bags did you put two and two together.

“I figured you’d prefer to have some good memories with that dress” Rossi chuckled, taking one bag from Penelope’s outstretched finger. “Let’s go to dinner, my treat, after all the leg work you put in yesterday you must have an appetite.”

“Starving”

~

Rossi knew how to treat a lady and if you didn’t know better, you could very well become wife number 4 by next week. He drove you to Ciccio in the same car he rescued you with – a camel 1947 Buick that made you feel very much like a 50s movie starlet. He opened your door and helped you out of the car like a gentleman, waved you through the waiting line of diners to a private table for two, a bottle of Dom Perignon already waiting on ice. His bow tie was a soft velvet, matching the deep emerald green of your gown, the twinkle in his eye only surpassed by the glee you both shared at the first bite of the antipasti selection.

Conversation flowed even smoother than the wine selection, and when it came time to wrap up, the bill was taken care of before you could blink twice.

“Ok, I’ll admit it Rossi” you say as you stroll arm in arm among the trees strung with fairy lights. “You do know how to treat a lady. Maybe you should teach classes alongside your regular profiler training.”

A chill suddenly overcame you and the jacket was quickly thrown over your shoulders, making you turn and smile at your colleague.

“Thank you for a wonderful night, David. I really mean it.”

“Of course, tesoro.” He said, kissing your knuckle respectfully and looped a hand around your arm to guide the two of you back to his car. “You deserved a nice evening, at a proper Italian restaurant, with a man who actually pays the bill.”

The Real Housewives of the BAU

JJ –       How was the dinner with Rossi?

I might become wife #4 if this what date night usually is - Y/N

Em –    That good? Damn, he’s holding out on us

P.G. – I’m glad you had fun.

P.G –   by the way, I had nothing to do with it but if a certain mpd detective starts complaining about how the random shift assignments seemingly aren’t random its because they aren’t.

Pretty Boy –    You know most random algorithmic generators aren’t actually random.

Pretty Boy –    True randomness has a social phenomenon of being ‘fake’ due to a recipients feeling that it’s not actually random so they had to devise a..

10+ unread messages

#criminal minds #the-fandom-files #the fandom files #bau #fandom-files: moments #silver-writes #x reader #david rossi #david rossi x reader #rossi x reader #rossi #k.e.birch

[kusokurae01]

*Cracks knuckles* Did you really think I wouldn't RETURN THE FAVOR- now, what's YOUR favorite Jekyll and Hyde adaptation(Or adaptations)?

Hello, first off thank you so much for this ask! <3 I don't get them everyday, so I'm very happy with how much this blog is growing, little by little.

My top three is quite controversial, but I'd say that my favorite adaptation so far has to be the broadway musical, from which my own adaptation (Apotheosis) takes inspiration; what people don't understand is that an adaptation isn't made to be 1:1 with the original product, especially when the original quite literally doesn't have anything to tell story-wise and is overall a mediocre story with an interesting concept. Don't get me wrong, I really enjoy the Novella, but I take it for what it is instead of pretending that my interpretation is 100% correct and canon and treating the book as if it were a masterpiece of classic literature, when it isn't— sure, it's a small, enjoyable story which can be interpreted however you want and that's also what makes it appealing to most people— the uncertainity of everything, the fact that we don't know who the reliable narrator is, it's VERY interesting, but it isn't the writing that makes the story, to me. So you see, my disdain for novella fans not only comes from the fact that they're gatekeeping assholes, but also that they insist that their interpretation is the only correct one, when the novella was written PRECISELY to don't have a correct interpretation, at least IMO.

Funniest thing is that they expect Hyde to be a bachelor of morality somehow and not do anything problematic besides murder, because we are so desenitized to violence that apparently now it's something inherently normal (or rather just fandom puritan bullshit), as if this wasn't the literal Victorian Era and the author wasn't a rampaging racist (which is normal for again, the period we find ourselves in. But they are willing to shit on people who attempt to be historically accurate, but when you mention that the dead man they have a parasocial relationship with was racist, and that the original book description of Hyde was IIRC, xenophobic too, they suddenly pull one hundred excuses up from their asses, but only because it's convenient to THEM in that moment).

These people know who I am referring to considering that they "called me out" on their shitty discord server over the 9/11 J&H joke in my description, pfp which was just Christine with a sapphic flag which also makes me presume these people are inherently mysoginistic, and the fact I ship musical Jekyde, sorry for being based I guess. I 100% expect them to see this, and if they do, I have one simple request— get your shit together, you aren't some literary critic, you are like seventeen and a "wrong headcanon" is enough to ruin your day, if not week, fully.

TL;DR Musical takes the first spot, the novella is good albeit mediocre and overrated and its fans are insufferable.

Now, what makes me like the musical if the recorded play wasn't anything special and Hasselhoff's acting atrocious?

The musical was the second adaptation I've watched of J&H, so it's only fair that I am very attached to it, but still recognize its inherent flaws— I don't think however, the musical should be judged because of a bad recording adaptation alone considering the many interpretations we got from other actors (Rob Evans, Robert Cuccioli...) and the simple choreography itself, especially when it was first performed in 1995; all the ideas behind it which in the end didn't make it in the play, are somewhat still there, like Simon Stride basically replacing Lanyon and being an enemy to Jekyll, someone double-faced just like the rest of the governors.

For those who don't know, Stride was supposed to be a main antagonistic figure in the musical, he was the owner of Red Rats and of other several brothels in Kentish Town as stated by Hyde in The Wedding Reception, also described as a green-eyed monster in The Ballad of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, the one who performed Good and Evil originally, supposedly when he was collecting money from prostitutes. Since The Spider basically took his role, we also know that Stride is inherently a domestic abuser considering that he hits Lucy on several occasions, other than being Jekyll's contestant for Lisa/Emma as shown in Lisa Carew which literally completely destroys the perception that Lisa completely depends on Jekyll when that's not inherently true. She's underdeveloped yes, but her character is interesting nevertheless, the musical is called JEKYLL AND HYDE, it's normal that it focuses on telling Jekyll's story, because a musical can't be ten hours long. His motivations are inherently unknown, but I suspect that he simply is jealous of Jekyll and overall wanted, like Hyde stated in The Wedding Reception, to put Lisa/Emma in one of his brothels, and he was angry that Jekyll spared her that fate, seemingly.

See? Everything, even if it didn't made it in the final product, it blends in with the background story of the musical's society perfectly, making the world feel alive rather than static like it did in the Novella.

Lisa/Emma is a woman who clearly wants independence, which was something definitely big for the period, considering that the ideal of victorian woman from the conservative classes was that of a frail and submissive lady (which I think it's also seen in the fact that their ideal make up made them look almost as if they were ill due to how pale they were) and the first feminist movements literally simply asked to be beaten up by their husbands less. This is seen in Letting Go and Lisa Carew. She doesn't depend on Jekyll and is stated by her nevertheless, she chose to marry him because she genuinely liked him, and never doubts him even when the big reveal happens. Underdeveloped =/= Bad character.

Lucy, on the other side of the spectrum, is a prostitute, which was the lowest and most hated class you could possibly be a part of. Other than this she's a domestic abuse victim, and the only person who ever considered defending her and showed her kindness, instead of objectifying her even when she was giving him sexual hints, was Jekyll. It's only normal she'd latch onto him; she clearly wants to live a different life and keeps hoping that things will get better for her, because everyone has their day (The Girls of The Night), even when her own best friend (Nellie) discourages her, she keeps hoping. She feels genuinely lost, (Nobody Knows Who I Am) in which it is left implied that she doesn't have anything if not her identity as a prostitute, and that not even her friends (possibly, one of her lines was referred to Nellie) know who she truly is; once, perhaps there were possibilities for her, but that faded because for a prostitute in the victorian era, there's genuinely no hope or respect. Bring on the Men also makes us understand that she's been a prostitute for a very long time now, so who other than she knows this? But yet she keeps hoping, and eventually her prayers get answered. She turns to Jekyll when Hyde first physically harmed her and, she seems very resigned about what has happened to her while Jekyll is horrified, and her emotions led her to kiss him perhaps as a sign of gratitude, and Jekyll didn't refuse, and if I recall correctly that's when Lucy sings Someone Like You and then later on, In His Eyes with Lisa/Emma. If anything, Jekyll is the villain here because he blatantly gave Lucy false hopes, because his actions as Hyde clearly make us perceive that he was only ever kind of her because of lustful reasons, at least IMO. Her world doesn't revolve around Jekyll, we barely see her in the musical quite frankly, and considering what I'm saying and her little screentime, perhaps Lucy is the MOST developed character of the musical. She's tragic— her death truly shows that there wasn't hope for minorities in that society.

Most criticism I saw about the musical is mainly from people who heard things novella fans themselves told which are inherently inaccurate, or from people who perhaps during the songs in let me repeat, A MUSICAL, didn't pay attention.

now, the second spot is taken by Hyde & Seek, I don't have much to say about it because I mainly saw snippets from it but, the motivations are pretty much the same as the musical, the worldbuilding is really good, the characters are funny and memorable, and the art direction is just chefs kiss.

Novella is third.

#.txt #jekyll and hyde #jekyll and hyde weekly

[untitledbandcomic]

UBC#3 - A Haven Takes Hard Work

{ID - a comic titled, 'UBC#3 - A Haven Takes Hard Work', featuring four characters (Laurie, Kaz, J and KC). Full ID under cut. END ID}

Alt. Title - Laurie Takes A Chance On Some Rando That Invited Them To His Glorified Basement.

Full ID: A comic featuring Laurie Alistair, Kaz, J and KC, all located within a dingy, run-down club (Dreamscape).

J crouches to lift a cardboard box as he says, "Listen. You look smart. You should leave." The box is held the wrong way up.

J looks with melancholy over at KC, who has gotten Kaz to help him pin up a progress pride flag over a nasty looking black spot on the wall. J continues to speak, "I just got carried away trying to make... yknow... a haven?"

There is a pause, before Laurie looks down at his phone, dialling a number. "Very well," he says. He looks up to smile at J, who looks shocked, blushing slightly, "I'll call in a favour or two. You should get ready for some hard graft."

END ID

Character Descriptions:

Laurie Alistair (he/she/they) is a tall, broad-shouldered white person with long ginger and grey hair in a ponytail. He has green-grey eyes and thick eyebrows. Here, he wears a brown suit with a matching tie, and a single green earring that dangles from his right ear. He has painted red nails.

Kaz (she/they) is a short, fat black person with a lavender buzzcut. She has teal eyes and vitiligio in patches over her eyes, top lip, each side of her neck and on her underarms. Here, she wears a sleeveless cropped shirt with a spiderweb design. She wears red headphones with antennae on the cups.

J (he/him) is a tall, thin mixed man with ginger hair under a green beanie, and a matching ginger goatee. He has blue eyes. Here, he wears a tight fit navy turtleneck.

KC (he/him) is a short, muscled white person with white blonde hair cut into a fluffy mullet, with two larger spikes that look like cat ears. He has hazel eyes. Here, a blue vest over a charcoal grey binder and black biker shorts. He also wears red sweatbands on his forehead and wrists, and matching red shoes.

#artists on tumblr #original comic #webcomic #original character #original art #ubc j #ubc kc #ubc laurie alistair #ubc kaz #ubc

[digenerate-trash]

Yandere lessons (for the hunters)

So you wanna find yourself a wild lover? Well here are a few steps to make sure you got yourself a wild card of a red flag and how to avoid love them

Step 1: analyze your lover,friend,colleague,ect before making assumptions they usually make eye contact and start blushing some don’t but others can be easily swayed by your “beauty”

EX: your name is jasmine and your best friend James came to hang out but after a long conversation with him you see him leave with nothing but once you get out of the shower and find one of your panties gone you start to question if you lost it in the washing machine because your a fucking IDIOT lovable person for your friend James

*ahem* where was I?

Step 2: start hanging out with the opposite sex with your friend,lover,colleague,ect because it will make them jealous some will show it right away from their tone others will “ignore” it and pretend that it’s just you and only Y.O.U

EX: Jasmine and James run into jasmine’s colleague bob and man is bob the flirty type James suggested that you should go find a place to watch the movie you both were talking about as he wants to have a small chat with bob because he wants to know about him obviously you agree and let bob DIE IN THE FUCKING DITCH LIKE OH MY GOSH CAN YOU NOT SEE IT Let James make a new best friend that who just spent all their energy on falling asleep in a dumpster oh silly bob

Step 3: look around their bedroom to find any pictures that may or may not be about you as sometimes it’s family pictures you might also find some evidence for their next victim but that is a low chance as they know the best hiding spots to put you when they find out that you know where the bodies are and why they did it

EX: jasmine found out that James has killed men who “tormented” and “abused” her because she is beautiful and they want to have a taste of her THEY LOVE HER AND YET SHE IGNORES EVERY SINGLE CALL AND NEVER SPEAKS TO JAMES so jasmine is forced to date James for the rest of her life and learn to love and respect her.new.lover

- j@$m1N3

Damn baby. You got issues.

Hope Bob dies!!

#yandere #asks #tw yandere