#but then what do you expect from a show made by BBC

[craeatus]

god. The posts about Merlin being a cute little precious angel uwu who has never done anything wrong fills me with so much irrational rage.

[mashmouths]

so i started this show and it just gets worse and worseeeee not only did it lift the romance subplot directly from twilight (and not well) but they also are trying to play the forbidden love angle hard in the fantasy racism vein except it's a "cross-species" relationship between the two whitest people i've ever seen in my life and there are three people of color in the whole (first season of the) show who aren't villains and it seems that every other episode (and sometimes ebery episode and sometimes twice an episode!) there is a man physically or magically subjugating a woman and i keep waiting for the big reveal at the end to be stolen from fucking rainbow rowell

[pigfacedbitch]

HIIII I'm a big fan of your work and I really love it your writing is amazing , this may be a weird request and if your uncomfortable you don't have to do it , it's fine I completely understand, so it's like merlin and Arthur and the reader and they are all soulmates and it's there first time meeting each other . Thank you in advance

Modern! Reader Gets Transported to Albion

idea : modern world! reader gets transported to Albion and meets Arthur and Merlin. unbeknownst to you and the prince of Camelot, the three of you are soulmates.

type : imagines

word count : 0.7k

pairing/s involved : Arthur x Reader, Merlin x Reader

warning/s : almost drowning, panicking

here is my masterlist!

Note : MY FIRST REQUEST! Whoever you are, thank you for reading my works and I might've changed a little bit in your request. Also, I apologize that it took so long, school has been keeping me busy. I hope you like it! 😊

You've always been a fan of BBC Merlin so when you had the chance to take a trip to Europe, you did.

You went to all the locations where they filmed the series like Château de Pierrefonds and Chislehurst Caves. The last destination is where the Lake of Avalon is; Forest of Dean.

Luckily you are alone, giving you the chance to fully enjoy the beautiful sceneries and serene atmosphere.

It made you feel a deeper sense of nostalgia and melancholy— how the precious characters you loved dearly died and were 'buried' there.

With one last selfie, you were about to walk back to you car when you hear it. A faint voice, filled with sorrow and longing.

"(Y/N)... Save us."

It's coming from the lake.

Something glimmers on it's shore, a sapphire drop necklace with golden chain. When you attempt to pick it up, the world begins to spin.

Suddenly, you were underwater.

Panic builds in your chest not because you can't swim, but an unseen force seems to harshly pull you down no matter how hard you try to stay afloat.

"Help me! Please, someone—"

Air runs out from your lungs when a pair of bulky arms grabs your body and begins to swim you to safety.

"Don't worry, I got you."

I heard that voice before.

The stranger easily carries you to ground, draping a large cloak on your shivering body. Rubbing your eyes for better sight, you look up...

Bradley James?

"Are you alright?"

No. You're certain that Bradley doesn't look that young anymore, keeping up with his latest activities online.

"I told you to be careful, Arthur!"

Turning your head, you see Colin Morgan run towards the two of you with a worried expression on his face.

He looks younger too.

"Ah, Merlin. Fetch the horses, she might need medical attention. May I ask for you name, my lady?"

Arthur? Merlin? Wait... Oh my God.

Realization hits you hard when both men stare at you expectantly, waiting for your answer.

The way they speak, their clothes, their appearances... it's exactly the same in the show you binge-watch every Christmas season.

Am I in the show? That's not possible...right?

"W-Where are we?"

"Camelot."

Shit.

You expect someone to go 'You just got punked!'; that would've been better than two men (who you have a huge crush on) staring at you, confused.

You waited for a moment but nothing happens.

This is real. I'm actually in Albion.

Fear and anxiety creeps into your system, as many questions form in your head. Did I die? What's going on? What season is this? How can I ever get back?

Due to the overwhelming emotions, your breath shortens and keeled over.

Bradley, or Arthur (You have no idea anymore), quickly catches you and gently carries you to his horse.

"We must make haste!" was the last thing you heard before you blacked out.

Merlin, on the hand, knew this would happen. In fact, he dreams of you.

He sees you in vague images, like old memories— happily kissing his cheek, witnessing him use magic, encouraging him to do another trick, etc.

He already etched in his mind your pretty face, your melodious voice, your playful grin— everything about you.

Then Arthur shares the same experience, dreaming about a woman who's description mirrors yours.

Kilgharrah told him that the woman of their dreams will arrive soon from faraway land and will play significant role in the prophecy.

However, the dragon didn't specify how. He only said—

"(Y/N) is your soulmate, Emrys. She sees you and Arthur in a light no one else ever will."

Soulmates are uncommon, even for druids. Only a few were blessed, to have something so wholesome and pure.

So when he heard your cry for help, he is ecstatic. You have finally arrived. His soulmate... and Arthur's.

He wryly smiles at this. Funny how he shares, not only his destiny with the prat, but also you.

The trip to the castle was faster than they anticipated. Arthur told him to call Gaius and meet them in his bedroom.

It caught the attention of everyone. The prince carrying an unconscious woman in his private chambers will surely stir gossip.

But Arthur didn't care, and Merlin didn't know if he should be proud or worried.

The court physician said you are healthy, they only have to wait for you to wake up. He left to attend other matters; leaving the three of you alone.

"This is her." The prince laughs in disbelief, incognizant of what Merlin knows. "The girl in my dreams, I can't believe it!"

Merlin tries to hide his smirk, Arthur can be so adorable when he's clueless.

"Nor can I, sire."

[raina-at]

My fic year in review

Total number of completed stories: 6

Total word count: about 90 k, give or take. (Published, that is, you don't want to see my WIP graveyard...)

Fandoms written in: BBC Sherlock

Looking back, did you write more fic than you thought you would this year, less, or about what you’d expected? More, because I didn't expect to turn Nothing Gold Can Stay into a series, and three of my six finished fics were in that series. Also, I participated in the May challenge even though it was hell at work around that time, so I'm doubly proud that I produced 28k worth of ficlets.

What’s your own favorite story of the year? Hm, it's a tie between Lying in Winter, because I wrote it in two days in sort of a dreamy haze between New Year's and going back to work and it was lovely, and Guess Who's Coming to Christmas Dinner because it was a hoot to write from start to finish.

Did you take any writing risks this year? I wrote a series of fics that build on each other, which I've learned leads to diminishing returns the more fics into the series you are, but I'll continue this until I run out of ideas or every last one of you is sick of that series, whatever happens first ;-)

Do you have any fanfic or profic goals for the new year? I've recently started working on a big, gigantic monster of a Mystery Project, lovingly nicknamed The Monster(TM). I'd love to stick with this one and finish it, because I think it could be really good. So keep your fingers crossed for me. I also want to finish and post the next fic in the Nothing Gold series.

Most popular story of the year? Guess Who's Coming for Christmas Dinner, you guys apparently love my Unilock fake relationship dorks.

Story of mine most under-appreciated by the universe, in my opinion: See above, if you write a series, the individual stories will have diminishing return because you lose the casuals. But what you lose in quanitity, you win in quality ;-)

Most fun story to write: Guess Who's Coming for Christmas Dinner. I had so much fun with their banter, it was almost indecent. It's also super low stakes, and I needed that at the time.

Most unintentionally telling story: I honestly don't know this year. How fucking long it took me to come up with a good solution for the plot of the new Nothing Gold fic, in that it tells me I suck at plot?

Seriously, The Light Gets In is about the healing powers of time, forgiveness and Yoga, and that's something I've experienced myself. I love Yoga and I think it shows in this fic.

Biggest disappointment: Oh my god, you guys, you cannot imagine how many abandoned drafts titled Yoga Sherlock I have in my WIP folder. It's embarrassing if I tell you how many fics I started, made decent progress with, and abandoned because they just weren't right. And then I went back to my original idea to make it a post Reichenbach story... Sigh. Only I switched to John POV and BAM. I had my story. The classic embodiment of the German saying "Warum einfach wenn's umständlich auch geht", which means basically why do something easy when you can do something complicated.

Biggest surprise: That you guys continue to like my fics. Seriously, the kindness, generosity and welcoming spirit of this fandom shouldn't surprise me anymore, but it gives me great joy. The fic exchange in May and the fic club were such highlights this year, an outpouring of fandom generosity and creativity. So my highlight this year is you, Sherlock fandom.

Tagging whoever wants to do this.

Happy new year, my dears. May we continue to rock in 2025, and may we continue being each others' lights in an uncertain time.

[hand-face-chan]

Uhhhhhhhh..... I have some........ thoughts.

Whoops! Sorry everyone!

the thomas thorne affair is clearly better than redding weddy. this is not a judgement on redding weddy but the thomas thorne affair is the third-best episode of the show and redding weddy is not

[stevesnightmares]

I don't understand how some people can watch BBC Merlin and, when they are done, complain that it didn't make sense because Merlin didn't fulfil the prophecy. You are the one who doesn't understand the story that is being told. This is not like in Percy Jackson, where we get prophecies and, by the end, we see them come true, even if in unexpected ways. Merlin created his own path with every choice that he made, with every action he took. He could've fulfilled his destiny, he could've saved Arthur and brought on the golden age of Albion, but by making certain choices he wasn't able to fulfil that destiny. He had the ability to do so, but didn't.

In season 1 episode 8, "The Beginning of the End" we are immediately told that Merlin will not fulfill his destiny, he will not protect Arthur and see him bring about the golden age of Albion.

KILGHARRAH If the boy lives, you cannot fulfil your destiny. MERLIN What's he got to do with my destiny? You said it's my destiny to protect Arthur. KILGHARRAH Then you have the answer you seek. MERLIN You're telling me that little boy is going to kill Arthur? KILGHARRAH It seems that is up to you. MERLIN No. You can't know that for certain. KILGHARRAH You have it in your power to prevent a great evil. MERLIN There must be another way! The future isn't set in stone! KILGHARRAH You must let the boy die.

By saving Mordred, Merlin sealed Arthur's fate and signed his death. He made a choice and that choice had its consequences.

Another clear example of Merlin's choices affecting, well, everything, is in season 2 episode 8, "Sins of the Father".

Merlin's goal is to make Arthur see that magic isn't all bad, to make the genocide of magic wielders stop, to bring magic back to Camelot so that he and every other magic person can live freely as themselves.

When meeting with Morgouse, Arthur begins to go towards the right path.

ARTHUR What if my father's attitude to magic is wrong? MERLIN You really think that?

ARTHUR Perhaps it's not as simple as he would have us believe. Morgause is a sorcerer, she has caused us no harm. Surely not everyone who practices magic can be evil.

He's starting to see that maybe not everyone who uses magic uses it for evil, that magic users can be good.

ARTHUR You speak of hunted her kind like animals! How many hundreds have you condemned to death to ease your guilt?

He's also seeing that Uther hates magic because of personal reasons and not because all magic is really bad.

This was the perfect opportunity, the perfect opening to bring Arthur on the right side. But what does Merlin do?

MERLIN Morgause is lying! She's an enchantress. She tricked you. That was not your mother you saw. That was an illusion. Everything...everything your mother said to you...those were Morgause's words. This has been her plan all along! To turn you against your father. And if you kill him, the kingdom will be destroyed! This is what she wants!

He tells Arthur that it's all a lie and that the sorcerer is evil, that once again those who use magic only want to see Camelot fall.

ARTHUR I am indebted to you, Merlin. I had become...confused. It is once again clear to me that those who practice magic are evil and dangerous. And that is thanks to you.

He solidified Arthur's belief that magic is evil and bad.

My point isn't to decide whether Merlin's choices were good or bad, right or wrong, we follow him, we see why he does what he does, how much he cares for Arthur and for others, we see his flaws and his shortcomings and we can't blame him for any of his choices because all of them, even the most misguided ones, were all done in good faith.

The point is that that's what the show is about: a young warlock in his quest to save Arthur and how his choices bring him to his failure. From season 1 he was doomed to fail because of his choices. At least that's how I see it. People were expecting to see Merlin fulfil the prophecy and some claim that he did, but imo the whole show is about how his choices doomed him and made him not fulfil his destiny.

UTHER You [Merlin] have proven yourself to be a trusted ally in the fight against magic.

[morganaspendragonss]

fandom memories

thanks for the tags @reyesstrand, @tellmegoodbye, @marjansmarwani and @lire-casander for the tags! love you all 💚 listen. i have been through some series finales in my time. bbc merlin. bbc atlantis. bbc robin hood. supernatural. the good place. the umbrella academy. for individual reasons, none of them felt quite like this. lone star is probably the first time i've ever been quite so involved in a fandom. it's been a huge part of my life for six years, six years in which i have been through two degrees and got a job, so i'm going to share six memories, one from each year.

2020: picture this: you are me, aged 18. the world has just started going crazy and you have no idea what's going to happen regarding university, which you have barely started. you're scrolling on tumblr when this new show starts popping up, and you ignore it for a while but then you see a gifset of one of the characters overdosing so you sigh and decide to check it out. cue bingeing every available video on youtube and a swift descent into obsession which leads to writing two fics before you've seen a full episode. good times.

2021: the first season i watched as it came out (though not live that time). also notable that my mental health crashed and burned in early 2021 and lone star was one of the few things that got me through that period. i remember having a really bad day once, and the only happy moment i had was watching bad call for the ?????? time. this was also the year of not one, but two angst weeks, and my 20th birthday fic celebration, which i loved doing.

2022: ah yes. season 3. my first time watching live, and honestly the experience of watching push and freaking out in real time was. well. this was when i really became a part of the fandom and joined some discord servers, where i made some amazing friends. there was discourse, which was fun and highly irritating, and i went to the dinah convention which...was probably a low point tbh but there were good moments.

2023: this was a weird year, as i very much started to step back from the fandom. some things had happened and i didn't feel comfortable anymore being quite so social. but who can forget watching the double episode season finale live? fun fact: this was the night before an important exam yet i still decided to stay up until 3am to watch my silly little firefighter show!

2024: we're going to ignore the year and a half of waiting. i honestly thought i would be okay with the show ending because of the aforementioned step back, but then i met a new group of lovely people and suddenly i was back, not quite in the thick of it, but comfortably present. season 5 has honestly been a bit of a car crash but it has been a joy to share these moments with friends.

2025: i can't believe that it will all be over in a couple of days. i am so grateful to this show for everything it has given me, my pocket friends, some of whom have become real life friends, all the triumphs and defeats, the epic highs and lows of being a lone star fan. i'm going to be honest - i don't have the highest expectations for the finale, but i do know that, whatever happens, it's going to be special. and also that i'm never getting this invested in a usa tv show ever again because jesus christ it is torture staying up until the early hours to have the actual show interrupted by ads every five minutes.

okay, i hope that was sappy and coherent enough. godspeed everyone, i'll see you at the finish line 🫡

open tag!

[bookwormcosplays]

Misconceptions of Sherlock and Co

Here I am going to list some misconceptions that I saw before getting into Sherlock and Co that I felt need to be corrected for any new people trying to listen. The things listed might be dubbed critiques. If you are someone who does not like criticism on your favorite pieces of media, please show yourself out now.

Johnlock is endgame

I beg every Sherlock lover who love the stories in every variation and specifically Johnlock, please stop setting yourselves up for disappointment. Unless it is explicitly said, don't believe it's canon. The reason why I say this is when this podcast first started to come out, everyone said johnlock was going to happen. Those are some of the most popular tiktoks about Sherlock and Co. And I won't lie, it was the push that made me listen to the podcast. I can't find where I saw it please if you can find it, send it to me. They said, the creators, that wasn't within their plans. John and Mariana though? I don't know if it'll actually happen, but it just feels like that's what they're pushing towards. Call me a conspiracy theorist, but the name Mariana is a lot like Mary. Speaking of Mariana--

It's just John and Sherlock

It may appear like that for a couple of episodes, but Mariana becomes an essential part of the team and she is here to stay. If you were one of the people who just wanted the boys, you're probably going to be disappointed because that is not the case here. Mrs. Hudson whose real name is Mariana also helps in solving crimes. Usually I would say if you didn't like Molly appearing in episodes, you also might not like this. But Mariana actually has some type of depth. So maybe you'll actually enjoy her appearances in episodes.

These Are New Interpretations of Sherlock and John

Yes and no. This might be controversial, but it didn't feel new. And it didn't feel like ACD's characterization. John and Sherlock's characterizations seems like they took a lot of inspiration from bbc Sherlock even down to some of the mannerisms especially the way they speak. It feels almost like fanfiction where they took the bbc Sherlock character interpretations of John and Sherlock and put them in an alternate universe. Over time though, they seem to be straying and they're now becoming their own characters. But if you told me at the beginning, "oh this is a new podcast based on bbc Sherlock fanfiction" I would've believed it.

POC Friendly

LOOK LISTEN, I'm not saying they're spouting out slurs. But someone, a white person, posted this is a poc friendly podcast. When I heard that, I assumed certain things. I assumed they had POC cast and crew, they had sensitivity writers, cultural consulting, etc. The cast and crew, respectfully, are majority if not completely white. I remember looking up Sherlock's voice actor after seeing all the fanart and I was so confused seeing a white man. Now this doesn't mean that POC should run away from it, but this does mean that when they say/do certain stuff there's no one to tell them "hey maybe let's not do that." There are instances that felt ignorant and unnecessary. In the Blue Carbuncle, they read a letter or a transcript from someone who saw an incident in the street (avoiding spoilers). I don't know how to phrase this, but it felt very much like they were mimicking some type of POC (most likely black). And they didn't put on a blaccent or anything, but just the fact that it was a white writer writing this making fun of how they spoke rubbed me the wrong way. And it went on far too long. Then there was Sherlock bowing at an Asian restaurant and John told him it was inappropriate, but I was stuck on why was it added? It wasn't humor and didn't have to do with a case. It shows Sherlock's ignorance, sure, but it just really didn't add anything. When it comes to content made by white british people, the bar on racial awareness for me is to the ground. I don't expect them not to have ignorant moments. But stuff like that, it is something that should be accounted for when you try to say something like it's "poc friendly." So would I say POC friendly, not really. Is it welcoming of everyone no matter what race or ethnicity? Yes. There's not a sign on the podcast that says POC do not enter, but be aware what majority demographic is a part of this and that they probably are going to say stuff out of ignorance.

*

*

*

I've been meaning to write this post for awhile, but I haven't gotten around to it. Plus, I wanted to see if anything else changed before I made a post. I genuinely don't see this as critiques just pointing out stuff for those who might go in thinking this podcast is something it's not. But I still put the criticism warning for people who might not want to see this. I really enjoy this podcast and it inspired me to read the original stories. They put a new spin on these stories that's modern, different, and still entertaining.

[golden-earcuffs]

Pitching Shows to GMMTV [1/?]

Here, I ramble about some show ideas that I have and gmmtv should make because I need to see them being made. Lots of fangirling and heaps of delulu logic ahead!

Tagging: @dallasthetimetraveler

1. World’s Greatest Detective

GMMTV should make a series on Sherlock Holmes and call it “The Detective and The Doctor”. He is famous, interesting, and most importantly, queer. Why haven’t they capitalised on him yet?

It’s a surprise that they haven’t made this show yet. Ever since the copyright lifted, I was expecting some production company to make Sherlock Holmes explicitly queer and in love with Dr Watson (looking at you, RDJude). But since no one has done it (apart from “Furtive Festivity” and no, “The Irregulars” does not count), GMMTV has the golden opportunity to be the pioneer. The company is known for making QLs, then having a spin on the obviously queer detective–doctor duo will be iconic. 

I also think it will be a very profitable choice? Given that Sherlock is an insanely popular character among international fans and has also been a recognized part of fan culture. It was actually his stories that introduced me to the queer media.

I know it will be yet another adaptation, but hear me out. They don’t have to copy the stories as they are. It would not be a remake so one won’t know the story beforehand. And since Sherlock Holmes is public domain, they can just upload the show on YouTube (unlike “Cherry Magic”, “F4: Boys Over Flowers” etc)

And it will be relatively easy, a new case per week, while hinting at a bigger villain in the initial episodes and then setting him up for the finale (I know “Petrichor” is doing something similar but every mystery show isn’t about the consulting detective.) Sherlock Holmes is a character that works in every era– 1890s, 20s, 90s or the modern day, if you manage to capture his essence. Sherlock Holmes can be anyone from a 90 year old British man, a Japanese woman in her 20s or a pre–teen Canadian girl. 

I know GMMTV doesn’t make a lot of 2nd seasons (“TGG”, “Still 2gether” and now “Only Friends: Dream On” being some exceptions, and while “The Enigma 2” was announced, we know nothing else about it) but honestly? If they make this show, I hope they don’t stop at only one season. Milk it properly. Gimme like five seasons with six episodes each (no, it’s not a lot. “Granada Holmes” had 36 episodes, “CBS Elementary” had 154 episodes in total, spanning over 7 seasons).

The thing is, they have enough content to make it long. Plenty of source material (4 novels and 58 short stories is no joke) and several adaptations to draw inspiration from. Asian ones too– “Miss Sherlock” and “Sherlock: Untold Stories”. I watched the former and it was so good. A Thai adaptation will be thrilling if they utilise the local stories and settings and have a good direction. 

And that’s the thing.

They’ll need a very good director (and writing team) to pull it off. Mystery and plot twists are hard to do, if I take examples, “Not me” revealing Todd as the villain wasn’t shocking (perhaps they weren’t going for it), “The Gifted Graduation” overdid it with it’s plot twist after plot twists and the secret weapon suspense in “Home School” was straight up bad.

However, I’m sure they can pull together a good team to work behind the cameras. I hope a team that actually likes the characters and is willing to tell a good story. There is no scarcity of great detective shows, what makes Sherlock Holmes special is its characters. 

I want GMMTV to make it because I know for sure that they won’t queerbait me. They won’t make Sherlockians like me cry like the BBC version or leave us hanging like the Ritchieverse. No, they’ll have Mr Holmes and Dr Watson make out hotly in 221B Baker Street as soft violin plays in the background. 

Now, onto the Fancasts, because I obviously have some.

I want to see Sing Harit as Sherlock Holmes. Call me biased but I love him AND he’s a great actor whose potential GMMTV hasn’t fully utlised and that drives me insane. I just want to see him play a serious character without being the villain or the pervert.

helppp i cannot decide on a watson fancast

Either Namtan Tipnaree or View Benyapa would make a fantastic Irene Adler. And if they want to treat fans, they can genderbend Godfrey Norton and have her played by Film Rachanun. 

I watched that last one scene from “Home School” and since then Khaotung Thanawat as Prof. James Moriarty is stuck in my brain. He’ll be effortlessly good.

Also, Ohm Pawat as Col. Sebation Moran? I’ve seen people complaining that he’s been in too many serious roles and not to typecast but Ohm would work perfectly in action roles.

This post got way longer than I expected and I got to talk about only one potential show. I’m ending it here so more parts of pitching shows to GMMTV will probably come.

[bullet-clubs-bitch]

I would love a BCC smut headcannon fic! I’ll leave it up to you! Not many people write about all of them. Thank you! 😊

Fine Print

An: This started out as some form of head cannons and turned out to whatever this is. I honestly don't know what this is.

Blackpool Combat club X Fem reader

Main Masterlist

Word count: 835

Summary: When Regal betrayed the BCC they were in search of a new leader and somehow you fit the part. You should have read the fine print

When Regal turned on the BBC months ago I didn’t know what to expect. Sure we all knew it would happen at some point but did that point need to be right now? I had the pleasure of being ringside for the match against Mox and MJF, I saw firsthand the look of betrayal on Jon’s face once he realized what had happened. 

The next few weeks were a bit of a daze, originally I was just being used as a distraction, as bait for this feud with Max. I honestly didn’t mind it, I still hated him for what happened during our days in the pinnacle so when Regal came to me with the idea I had to accept. Now that he’s gone the BCC needed a leader. I would assume the torch would be passed to Mox or Danielson but me? What did they see in me? Why did they want me to take over their sacred club?

Those next weeks as the new leader of the BCC went well, almost too well. We would travel and room together since that’s what factions do but I always felt like there was something else. The way the boys would exchange looks between the other hoping I didn’t realize but I always did. The way they would get jealous when other male talent approached me backstage. I almost felt like I was pray and they were predators waiting to find the right moment to attack. 

Tonight I had a match on Dynamite against Hikaru Shida, of course the boys needed to be ringside for my match. When I arrived at the arena I could feel everyone’s eyes on me, almost like I did something wrong. Just then Shida came up to me. 

“Hey Y/n!” Shida said, approaching me with a big smile 

“Hi Shida, you ready for tonight?” I asked 

“I’m ready to kick your ass” She said laughing “But I came to give you a bit of a heads up” 

Heads up? Why would I need a heads up?

“I think your little club is mad at you?” Shida said to me before a “Good luck”, with that she left

I stood in the middle of the entrance frozen in fear. What did I do? Everyone knows not to piss off the blackpool combat club. Trying to prepare myself for the absolute worst I walked down a few halls until I made it to our private locker room. I knocked on the door, no response, so I knocked again, still nothing. I slowly opened the door and realized it was pitch black in the room, just then I felt someone grab my arm and pull me inside. 

I tried to move, make a sound, but I couldn't. Whoever grabbed me had a tight grab on my wrists from behind with one hand, the other covering my mouth. Still I tried to escape but then I felt it and I realized exactly what was going on. I could feel the hard erection pressed against my ass. My body now was able to relax, just for a moment. Then that’s when I realized that it was Mox who held me, at least I thought it was, I was still in the dark. 

Just then the mystery man let go of me and the bright lights turned on, revealing the entire blackpool combat club. 

“Where were you yesterday?” Mox asked as he slowly approached me, now face to face 

I didn’t know how to respond 

“I’m asking you a question: doll face, where were you?” Mox asked again, voice louder this time 

“Home?” was all I could manage to stay

“That’s just not good enough, you see we don’t appreciate you not joining us yesterday” Danielson said “The BCC we eat, we sleep, we train together. You know this. So why weren't you here yesterday?”

I didn’t know what to say, truthfully I wanted to travel to the show alone today. I was starting to grow a bit uncomfortable at times, I swear Yuta was watching me in the shower the other day. 

“What’s the matter? Cat got ya tongue?” Mox said as he grabbed me once again, pressing my ass against the bulge in his jeans. “You feel that Y/n? This is what you do to me, I’m pretty sure you do this to all of us. I’m going to say this once baby so you better listen. You may be the leader of this club but I will tell you what to do. Part of your job Y/n, will be to help me out with this little problem I have here alright?” 

Just then, Mox gave the others a nod to which Yuta, Claudio and Bryan left the room leaving me and Mox alone. 

What have I gotten myself into?

[manchestereyes]

i saw you mention the video that shan't be named and the tweets and i agree they were definitely a couple back then... but what if theyre not anymore and instead just exes who are friends in the current day ;-;. i remember back when the video went huge on tumblr how adamantly dan denied it, in such a way that would be hurtful to phil in some posts if they were still together at that time. idk maybe all the break up fics that were inspired by those posts poisoned my mind lol

you're totally valid! honestly a lot of what they did at that time is super confusing but i see it as dan coming from a place of fear. as we know, he'd been bullied all his life for being different and seeming gay, to the point where he genuinely thought he couldn't be gay if he wanted to survive in his hometown.

but then he found phil, and learned that phil was openly gay in his real life and things were going alright for him. so dan started to think that maybe it would be okay for him too. fast forward a few years and their videos were blowing up faster than either of them expected, to the point where they were getting amazing opportunities with the BBC. and those opportunities play such a huge part in their story. because, think about it--the BBC is a HUGE national corporation and radio 1 is one of the top radio stations in the world. having their own radio show would make them national celebrities.

and sure, the BBC and especially radio 1 weren't homophobic by any means--nick grimshaw came out shortly after taking over the breakfast show in 2012. but dan still wasn't out to his family yet. so when the video leaked and people started digging into his past, he got super defensive because he wasn't even close to feeling like he could tell his family yet and things were coming dangerously close to his family finding out from someone other than him. so he did everything he possibly could to make it seem like he couldn't possibly be gay--and yeah, that included saying things like "ew, phil and i are friends i could never think about kissing him!!!1!!11!!!1"

and sure, we don't know anything about the inner workings of their relationship. but we do know they felt like they had to say yes to every opportunity just in case saying no to things made these opportunities dry up, to the point where they'd have to get jobs outside of youtube. and along with being outed, that was dan's biggest fear at the time. he had dropped out of uni and his family didn't have a financial safety net for him to fall back on. that is an INCREDIBLE amount of stress for anyone, let alone someone in their early 20s!

i like to think phil understood that, though, especially since he was under a similar amount of stress. sure, every gay couple is different and we've seen countless stories where one person isn't willing to go back in the closet for another. but considering that they are always talking with each other and checking in on each other even now, i think they have excellent communication--to the point where dan likely told phil about these posts before he posted them. heck, they even edit each other's videos! so they always know what the other is putting out into the world, and understands why they're saying that. and seeing as they've been joined at the hip this whole time (even when we didn't always see it) and never made the slightest attempt to date anyone else, i feel pretty confident saying they've been together the whole time! we may never know for sure, and maybe i'm being overly optimistic, but i hope not 😊

[alwaysonthemend]

The Nightcap | JMK

Author’s Note: This is the first fic I’ve written since my BBC Sherlock era so please bear with me. I’m a little nervous posting my writing after so much time but I also really want to get back into it because it’s so much fun! This is unbeta’d so all mistakes are my own. 

Summary: After leaving a party early, you and Josh head back to your place for a nightcap and a movie. Little do either of you know, things are about to heat up between the two of you. 

Content Warnings: Fem!reader, oral (f. receiving) hand jobs, p. in v. sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, folks!), swearing, minor sub Josh. 18+ MINORS DNI 

Word Count: 3499

Preview: 

He sat up from between your legs and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand – no doubt the most obscenely attractive thing you’d ever seen in your life.

“Holy fuck.” you breathed out, and Josh chuckled smugly at your blissed-out expression.

“Everyone always talks about a guitarist’s fingers…” He said with a wicked grin, “But no one ever talks about a vocalist’s tongue.”

“Cocky bastard.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

These parties always made you feel nervous. No matter how many of them you went to, you always felt slightly out of place and awkward. You barely know anyone here. You know the boys of course, having practically grown up alongside them, but it still felt too awkward to ask one of them to stay with you the whole time. You hadn’t even wanted to show up tonight, but Josh had seemed so disappointed when you said you might sit it out and so you’d relented and told him you’d at least come for a little while. Parties were his favorite after all.

The boys were abuzz with energy as you all made your way to the club downtown. They’d booked the whole place out and had invited practically all of their friends who lived nearby, along with a bunch of other people whom you had no idea who they even were. You’d made your rounds as you’d first arrived, saying hello to the few people you did know before making your way over to the bar to have a drink.

From your place at the bar, you could see just about everyone – it was far more packed than you had been expecting and definitely far louder than you were in the mood for. At this point, you were debating with yourself whether or not you should just get an Uber back to your house and call it a night. The day had been long, and this party wasn’t helping the headache mounting behind your eyes.

You rose from your seat, pulling out your phone to call an Uber when Josh slid up next to you, drink in hand.

“Hey y/n! What’s up?” His eyes were sparkling in the dim lighting of the club and his cheeks were pink from the excitement. He looked divine.

“Hey, Josh.” You smiled lightly, “I was just about to call an Uber actually. I’m a little tired and I just want to go to bed.”

His face fell slightly before his eyes furrowed in confusion.

“Why are you calling an Uber? Your place isn’t far, and I could drive you. An Uber would just be a waste of money.”

“That’s sweet of you to offer but I don’t mind paying for an Uber.” You gestured to the party going on around you. “Besides, I wouldn’t want to take you away from all this. You love parties!”

He gave you a toothy grin. He was wearing a low-cut V-neck shirt, and you could see the sweat on his chest glisten under the blue light of the club. He looked ethereal.

“Well yeah, I do. But I also would love to drive you back to your house. I wouldn’t mind. I promise.” He placed his glass on the bar and looked at you through his lashes. He looked sincere and you felt yourself caving.  

“Fine,” you conceded, “So long as you promise that you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind at all, mama. Come on!” You felt yourself blush at the nickname as you followed him out of the club and into the night air outside. The cold wind was a stark contrast to the stuffiness of the club, and you took a moment to breathe and feel the coolness on your cheeks. You and Josh made your way to his car, and he opened your door for you before getting in himself.

“Thank you again, Josh. You really didn’t have to take me home.” You said after a few moments of relaxed silence. Josh glanced at you for a moment, a soft look on his face, before turning his eyes back to the road.  

“It’s really no problem, y/n. I don’t mind.”

The two of you sat in comfortable silence, interrupted only by the soft sounds of Fleet Foxes floating out from the car’s speakers. This was why you liked Josh. As much as he always seemed to like to talk, he didn’t ever make you feel like you had to entertain or keep up a conversation for things to not be awkward. He was perfectly content to just sit in silence and enjoy another person’s company. You felt lucky that you got to see this side of him.

“I don’t know how you do it, Josh – go to all these parties all the time. I don’t understand how you find the energy to do it and never get tired.” You laughed, watching the lights of the city blur past your window. He chuckled.  

“I do get tired of it sometimes, I’m just a little better at hiding it.” He glanced at you again before continuing in a softer voice. “I didn’t really want to go tonight, actually. I was only going to go if you agreed to go, too.”

You looked at him, startled.

“Why? I’m not exactly the most fun person to be around at parties.”

“You’re very fun to be around, y/n. I love getting to spend extra time with you. I miss you when we’re on tour.” His honesty made your cheeks warm with embarrassment and you were having a hard time coming up with something to say in response.

“Well,” you said after a moment, “I love getting to spend time with you, too. I only showed up tonight because you asked.”

“I’m honored.” He laughed, his own cheeks tinged a little pink.

The rest of the drive passed in comfortable silence, and soon Josh was pulling into your driveway.

“M’lady.” He said with a dramatic flourish as he opened the car door for you again.

You giggled, taking the hand that he offered you as you stepped out of the car.

“Why thank you, my good sir.” You laughed. “Do you want to come in for a nightcap? I’ve got a bottle of wine calling my name right now if you’d like to join.”

He gave you a dazzling smile.

“That sounds amazing. Lead the way!”

The two of you made your way inside and Josh hooked his keys on the little hook on the wall before plopping down onto your sofa. You entered the kitchen, pulled two wine glasses from your cabinet, and placed them on the table. You grabbed the bottle of wine from your pantry, brought it over, and poured yourself and Josh a generous amount. He chuckled as he watched you fill the glasses. You put the bottle away before bringing them over to the sofa where Josh was sitting.

“Thanks for inviting me in, y/n. I really didn’t want to go back there. Far too loud for tonight.” He took a sip from his glass as you took a seat next to him.

“Consider it repayment for driving me home.” You took a sip from your own glass, reveling in the bitter taste on your tongue.

“Or maybe you’re just trying to spend more time with me.” He said with a sly grin.

“Hmm. Maybe. But you did accept my invitation so maybe you just wanted to spend extra time with me.”

He laughed softly. “Maybe so, y/n. Maybe so.”

Your heart rate picked up as he said the words and you brought your glass to your lips and took a large gulp to try and soothe the nerves away. Being alone with him like this, especially in your own house, was making your brain conjure up dangerous thoughts – thoughts that you usually tried to keep buried.

“Do you wanna watch a movie?” You asked in a desperate attempt to break the tension. Josh probably knew exactly what you were doing but went along with it.

“Sure! Did you have a certain one in mind?”

“You’re the film guy. You choose.”

He chuckled, placing his drink on the coffee table, and got up to turn off the lamp. He walked back, grabbing the remote as he sat back down. You placed your own drink down next to his and you settled back into the couch, pulling a blanket off the back and covering your lap and Josh’s as he chose one. You weren’t sure what he chose, but your mind became otherwise occupied as he leaned back, and his thigh and shoulder pressed into yours. The heat from him spread through you like the wine had, leaving you warm and relaxed. His scent flooding your nose coupled with the alcohol left you feeling far more at ease than you had been before.

The movie started and you really did try to pay attention – but all your mind could focus on was the feeling of him pressed against you. You stole occasional glances at him, trying to memorize how the soft glow from the TV accentuated his jawline and how his eyelashes cast shadows on his cheeks. At some point, he brought his hand to rest on your knee, absent-mindedly tracing patterns there with his fingertips.

You did your best to keep your eyes focused on the screen and eventually, you found yourself being drawn into the story. At least, you had been for a little while until you felt Josh’s fingertips slowly ghost their way up higher on the inside of your thigh, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. You glanced at Josh, but his eyes were still glued to the screen. He probably hadn’t even realized that he’d done it.

You turned your attention back to the movie, but it wasn’t long before Josh’s touch went even higher – high enough that it couldn’t have been an accident.

“Josh?” You whispered, scared to break the silence; scared to acknowledge what was happening. 

He turned to look at you, eyes dark and glistening in the light of the TV. 

“Y/n,” he whispered, swiping his bottom lip with his tongue. Your eyes tracked the movement before sweeping back up to his eyes. “Please tell me I’m not reading into this wrong. Tell me you want this too.” He looked so nervous – a look you’d never really seen on him before. He was always so confident, so sure of himself; seeing him look at you that way made you ache to reach out and soothe him. This was like a damn dream come true. You’d dreamed about being with him like this. You’d just never thought he would ever be interested in someone like you. There were thousands upon thousands of women who would kill someone to be where you were now, and Josh could have any one of them if he wanted. But somehow it was you that he wanted. It was you that got to see him like this – so vulnerable, his desire reflected clearly in his eyes. 

You must have taken too long to answer though, as he pulled his hand quickly from your thigh and stood awkwardly from the sofa. 

“Y/n, I’m so sorry. I never should have assumed that-” 

You grabbed his wrist quickly, wrapping your fingers around him tightly. 

“Relax, Josh. You just surprised me, that’s all.”

He stared at you for a moment, his cheeks a bright red that you could see even in the dim light. 

“I’m so sorry, y/n. That was so rude of me.  I can leave. I won't ever bring this up again.” He made to pull his wrist from your hand, but you tighten your grip on him. 

“Josh,” you whispered, “I want this. I want you.” 

He stared at you, turning your words over in his mind. He looked divine, bathed in the light from the screen, his chest heaving with excitement. 

“You promise?” 

“I promise.” You say as you pull him back down onto the sofa. You scoot backwards, bringing your back flush to the armrest and spread your legs. “Come here, Josh. I want this.” 

He crawls his way over to you, sitting on his knees between your thighs. His eyes are even darker than before, and the redness of his cheeks was now painted down his chest as well. You stare at him, waiting. Your heart is pounding, heat flooding between your legs as you stare at him. 

“Can I kiss you?” He says, as he brings his palms to your thighs and leans over you, your chests flush against each other. You ghost your lips over his, feeling their softness. 

“Please do.” 

He brings his lips to yours in a searing kiss, immediately plunging his tongue between your lips in a greedy display of lust. You whine quietly as he licks his way into your mouth, and you bring your hands up to his face, cupping his cheeks between them. He presses his hips to yours and you can feel his cock straining through the fabric of his pants, and you can feel your own wetness soaking through your panties. You don’t remember the last time you were this turned on. You feel dizzy – drunk on lust and desire for the man on top of you. 

His lips leave yours and you chase them, but he brings them to your neck instead, pressing searing hot kisses down your throat. He pulls away briefly to pull your shirt over your head before returning his mouth to the hollow of your throat. Your hands move upwards, ghosting over the shaved sides of his head before tangling in his unruly curls. You give them a tug and he groans, nipping at the sensitive skin of your neck. 

“Do you like that, Josh? Like it when I pull your hair?” You ask breathlessly, tugging again at his hair. 

He moans again and you feel his cock twitch as he ruts himself against your clothed pussy. 

“Fuck, mama…” he breathes, tongue licking over the valley between your breasts as he brings his right hand to the waistband of your pants. He brings his mouth away from you as he pulls them off, groaning at the sight of your lace thong. You mentally high-five yourself for choosing to put them on that morning. 

“Can I taste you, y/n?” He looks up at you from underneath his lashes and you swear you’ve never seen something more sinful. His lips are red and swollen and his chest glistens with sweat. He looks absolutely ravished already. 

“Whatever you want, Joshy.” 

He gives you a wicked grin before lifting your hips to slide your panties down your thighs. He brings them to his nose and inhales, moaning at the scent before tossing them somewhere in the room. That action alone makes your pussy ache with need for him, and you can feel yourself practically vibrating with excitement and desire. 

He lowers his head between your thighs and swipes his tongue through your folds, lapping at the wetness collected there. You breathe out a stuttered breath and throw your head back, eyes closed tight. He repeats the action, this time swirling the tip of his tongue around your swollen clit. 

“Oh God!” you whine, completely lost in the sensations of his tongue.  

He chuckles, and the vibration leaves you feeling completely drunk on arousal. He continues his ministrations, and it isn't long before you feel that familiar coil tightening in your belly. He brings one hand to cup your chin, thrusting his middle and pointer fingers into your mouth. You suck on them obediently before he pulls them out and sinks them into you, never once stopping with his talented tongue. He curls his fingers inside you, brushing against the spot that few men had ever been able to find as he suckled on your clit and your orgasm tore through you like a tidal wave. Your vision whited out as your entire body shook and you let out a wail of Josh’s name. 

He sat up from between your legs and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand – no doubt the most obscenely attractive thing you’d ever seen in your life. 

“Holy fuck.” you breathed out, and Josh chuckled smugly at your blissed-out expression. 

“Everyone always talks about a guitarist’s fingers…” He said with a wicked grin. “But no one ever talks about a vocalist’s tongue.” 

“Cocky bastard.” You laugh, sitting up and reaching for his pants. You pull them off him, leaving him in nothing but his boxers. He tears his own shirt off his head and you take a moment to just look at him. You can see his cock still straining through his boxers and his chest is red and heaving. His chin is covered in your wetness. 

“You look divine.” You say, pushing him back into a sitting position. 

“Speak for yourself, darling.” He slides the straps of your bra down your shoulders and reaches behind you to unclip it with one hand. He uses his other hand to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. You’re completely naked now, and Josh is staring at you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. You throw one leg over him, straddling his waist and grinding your pussy down on his cock. His hardness coupled with the roughness of the fabric of his boxers gives you the most delicious friction. He lets out a whine that’s like music to your ears. 

“I don’t have any condoms…” He mutters breathlessly, hands gripping your hips so hard they’ll probably leave bruises. 

“I’m clean. And I’m on birth control.” You say as you lean down to kiss him again. He moans as you bite his lower lip. 

“You sure?” He says, breaking the kiss to look up at you through hooded eyes. 

“Yes. Wanna feel you all the way.” You say as you pull his boxers down. He kicks them off and you take a moment to admire him. His head is an angry red and pearly droplets of precum leak from it. You scoot down lower on his thighs and spit into your hand before wrapping your fingers around his cock. He whines again and lets his head fall back onto the back of the couch. You pump up and down a few times, increasing your speed as you go. He lets out a breathy moan that sends shocks of arousal down into your pussy. You want nothing more than to sink down on him already, but you continue to jack him off with your hand. You want to see how far you can push him. 

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum if you don’t stop.” He whines, lifting his head to stare at you. You chuckle and speed up your hand while you start to massage his balls with the other. 

“Mama…” he moans again, and you can feel his balls tighten. He’s about to cum so you squeeze your hand tightly around the base of his dick. He yelps and groans, hips pushing up to try and chase his release. 

“Not yet, baby. Want you to come inside me.” You let go of his cock and bring your own hand to your clit, flicking it a few times before sinking down on him. 

You both moan loudly as you bottom out and you feel like you could cum from the feeling of him stretching you alone. You sit still for a moment, adjusting to his size before you slowly start to rock your hips. He moans and slides his hands down to grip your ass, squeezing as you bounce up and down on him. 

“Fuck, y/n, you feel so good. So tight.” 

“You’re doing so good, Josh. Such a good boy for me.” You moan, picking up your pace. He groans and bucks his hips at the nickname. 

“You like when I call you a good boy?” 

“So much, mama. Wanna be your good boy.” He ruts his hips into yours, meeting you in the middle as you ride him. You can feel yourself right on the edge, but you want to see him cum first. 

“You are my good boy, Josh. You’re so fucking perfect. So needy. So good for me.” And with one final thrust into you, you feel him explode in you, painting your walls with his release. 

“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck. Holy shit.” He whines, and the sound of his needy moans coupled with the pleasure painted over his face brings you to your own release as well. The coil in your belly snaps for a second time and you moan his name as you ride out your orgasm. 

You rise off him, collapsing onto the sofa next to him. 

“Holy shit.” He laughs breathlessly. “You are something else, mama.” 

You laugh, turning over to kiss him softly. 

“So are you, baby. You were so good for me.” He smiles lazily at you, eyes now shining with something more than just lust. 

“I’m glad you invited me in.” 

You laughed loudly. 

“Me too.’’ You could feel the tendrils of sleep beginning to cloud your mind and you rose slowly from the couch. Josh looked up at you, his messy curls falling onto his forehead. You extended your hand toward him 

“Stay with me tonight?” 

He smiled softly at you and took your hand. 

“I’ll stay as long as you want me to.”

[elizabethrobertajones]

so after taking like half a year to watch the second doctor, I burned through Pertwee Doctor in what felt like a week. I was fully ready to formally induct him to the hall of favourites somewhere around the top, pending the wikipedia search to check he such wasn't a terrible guy IRL it made it into the personal life section as per the last 2, and -

[refuses to be in a film when a producer won't hire a gay friend]

good start, good start (already liked everything else I read but this is an incredible character merit mark for a guy in the 50s)

[the doctor is literally just him being himself on camera]

Oh, so I just want him to be my friend, I see

[he said the catalyst for leaving was the death of Roger Delgado among other changes in the last year]

Wait WHAT - is that why there was no more Master later on -

[Delgado died on location filming in Turkey, his own wiki page repeats that this was why Pertwee wanted out]

NO NO NO NO NNOOOO

HOW IS THIS HUGE BIT OF DOCTOR WHO HISTORY SOMETHING I NEVER HEARD ABOUT? I GREW UP IN SCI FI CONVENTION SPACES BUT EVERYONE JUST TALKS ABOUT TOM BAKER LIKE NOTHING HAPPENED BEFORE?

WHAT THE FUCK.

I am DISTRAUGHT, the Doctor/Master stuff from the first few seasons of the 3rd Doctor was absolutely INCREDIBLE television. I'd been assuming Delgado maybe had somewhere else to be. Heartily recommend watching that entire run of the show if you don't want to start any earlier.

Well, anyway. :(

I know people don't like the weird James Bond swing it all took with him but the show had been getting more action-y anyway under the 2nd doctor and then a guy who had literally been in the inner circle with all the WWII creatives like Ian Fleming and probably helped INSPIRE James Bond gets the role, I'm feeling like we're blessed and privileged from this perspective of getting to watch it as a historical artefact. I'm assuming based on the vague things I know about the 4th Doctor, the first I'm meeting with any preconceptions, that he's obviously not capable of bringing THAT to the table because that was no ordinary skillset, Pertwee was clearly a top 0.00001% of actors and Guys Who Had Lived A Life, who happened to be doing a silly BBC sci fi show. I'm expecting it to tone back on all these things.

And then in hindsight from the Doctor Who revival era, all the nonsense he brought, aside from the Venusian Karate and flying car and a few other extreme eccentricities, end up being stuff that feels much more modern and like the kind of antics the Doctor gets involved in. Like, he took the sonic screwdriver from being a couple of times joke into a multi-tool with the first joke about it not working on wood after he uses it through many episodes to escape or explode things, all of which is so common nature to the Doctor nowadays.

He also had far more of the casual behaviours we think of as The Doctor now, especially way less circumspect name dropping of historical people and a sense of having lived all around time and space, sometimes for extensive periods of time (he clearly like. LIVED on Venus to pick up all the various throwaway jokes about Venusian culture to explain things he does lmao). Weirdly, despite knowing he was a timetraveller from the jump, the previous two doctors were quite close-lipped about who they knew and had met, and rarely namedropped.

In any case, carrying on into 4th doctor era cautiously because I am 1: sad and 2: deeply let down by my perception of Whovian culture as I've been exposed to it, which sets a ridiculously high bar for Baker as the high watermark of Who and meanwhile I have just bid farewell to watching one of the most electric actors I've ever seen in anything ever while feeling wildly upset on his behalf that there isn't a bonkers appreciative fan culture for everything he did and he's written off as one of the quirky weird early doctors you don't need to bother with.

(AND THERE WAS WRITTEN QUEER DOCTOR MOMENTS. AT LEAST 2-3 OF THEM, GENDER AND SEXUALITY-WISE. HE GOT TALKED TO IN POLARI. ON TV IN 1972. THAT DOES NOT HAPPEN BY ACCIDENT.)

[renx01]

Out of sight - part 4

General idea: Moriarty is your boss. After he helped you out of a precarious situation when you were still a minor, you started working for him. Now, he has a new job for you. Get close to the Holmes brothers to keep an eye on them for him. Pairings: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Mycroft Holmes/Reader  & Jim Moriarty/Reader Fandom: BBC Sherlock Word count: 2203

Masterlist

The following morning you woke up at 5 am again and went on another run. This time, Seb wasn’t there to greet you, but you really didn’t mind. After another 15 km run you shower and head to Scotland Yard. The tube, as always, is quite busy at this hour. At your arrival, you’re greeted by Greg, Anderson and Donovan arrive shortly after you do. It’s obvious they’d spent the night together again, but you decide it’s for the better not to comment. You suppose both their partners are away on business trips.

Most of your morning is spent going through files related to the same homicide as the previous day and making some adjustments to your report. All of the evidence is relatively straightforward and logical. Yet you’ve noticed that quite a few people aren’t as capable as you had expected, meaning that it’s unlikely for them to solve the crime without you pushing them in the right direction a bit more. While there are some in the department that are capable to an extent, it is quite telling that Sherlock has to be called in to solve so many cases. As you’re looking through some photographs and other evidence, DI Lestrade approaches your desk looking awfully nervous for some unknown reason. ‘Hey Charlie.’ He greets you. ‘Greg, how may I help you?’ You smile kindly at him. The smile he gives back is quite sheepish. ‘I was wondering if you could check some evidence related to a different case; me and the rest of the team are a bit stuck and it seems you might be able to discern some more information.’ Nodding, you pull up the server which holds all the evidence that’s been collected. ‘Which case?’ You turn to the screen and look for the code he names. It’s a recent case, which only happened about a month ago but there still aren’t any suspects that have been arrested. This particular homicide happened a few streets down from where the victim had last been seen at a pub. Supposedly, the woman had left to go home but never made it there. ‘Is there any camera footage from the pub?’ Greg shakes his head in response. ‘In this day and age? That’s quite remarkable. What was the victim’s name?’ ‘Vanessa McEwan.’ You type the name into the database. ‘About half a year ago she filed for a restraining order against an ex-boyfriend of hers. Despite having petitioned to cancel it only two months after, you should probably look into him. Maybe the toxic ex got back into contact with her, apologised and she forgave him. That doesn’t mean that he’s actually changed though…’ Greg looks at your computer screen intently. ‘I suggest you look into this ex, Thomas Jones, and check the camera footage around the bar. While he may not have been in the bar with her, he may have picked her up with the intent of getting her home safely. At least, that’s probably what she thought when she went with him.’ From the corner of your eye, you see him swallow thickly. You decide to ignore it and not comment. A few moments pass before he thanks you and goes back to his own office.

Before lunch you managed to finish the report on the gang related homicide and started working on the one Lestrade had asked you to look at. When he approaches you again that afternoon, you show him some of the footage of cameras located close to the crime scene. They had clearly been arguing before they went to, supposedly, talk in the alleyway. An alleyway only Thomas had left afterwards. ‘This is great Charlie, you’re an angel for finding this footage.’ He smiles. ‘I suppose you should go catch the man then, he seems to have booked a trip to Ibiza and is set to leave in a few days' time.’ You respond almost too coolly, but he seems to brush it off before calling for Donovan to join him and leaving. 

To be frank, you’re bored. Bored of all the mind numbingly stupid people around you, bored of having to pretend to be similar, bored of sitting around all day and pretending that you haven’t solved the case yourself yet. As the afternoon turns into night, more people start leaving the office, with you sitting at your computer compiling evidence for yet another case. Around seven o’clock, you decide it’s time to head to baker street. The ride on the tube is calm, the music from your earphones drowning out the people around you. You hope that Sherlock will be there when you arrive, though based on how his case was going yesterday, you think it is quite likely that he is visiting a museum to gather more information on what the number fifteen could possibly mean to the people that see it shortly before their death. Looking at his personality and how seemingly easily he manages to solve cases, you understand why Jim is so fascinated by him. He is quite easy to read though, he is more emotional than you had expected and he doesn’t seem to hide who he truly is like you are doing by assuming the persona you are for this particular mission. His brother, on the other hand, clearly is hiding whatever sentiment he has since he sees it as a weakness. Yet his weakness is so glaringly obvious it’s almost comical. He even revealed it the first time you met him, his little brother Sherlock. To you, it seems like quite a poor decision to reveal such a thing so blatantly, but you suppose he believes most people are too much of a goldfish to realise that. On your way back you decide to get some take-away curry and naan for dinner at an Indian restaurant just around the corner from Baker Street. When you open the front door, you’re met by Mrs Hudson who looks quite startled. ‘Good evening Mrs Hudson.’ She smiles. ‘Hello dearie, did you have a good day at work?’ You nod. ‘Yeah it was good, nothing remarkable going on. I just got some Indian food on the way here though, so that’s exciting.’ She laughs at that. ‘You really have your priorities, don’t you?’ She hits your arm as she continues laughing. ‘Well yes, would you like some? This is far too much for me alone, so if you’d like we can have dinner together.’ Her gaze softens. ‘That would be lovely dearie.’

So, that night, you end up having dinner with Mrs Hudson, who tells you that Sherlock’s gone for the case, taking John with him. She tells you what they’ve been up to all day, complaining about all the noise the detective makes. It’s clear to you, though, that she actually doesn’t mind that much, if she did she would’ve evicted him ages ago. You suppose she likes you too, to an extent. Hopefully it will come in handy in the future. Sherlock has a soft spot for her anyway, so he’s more likely to trust you if she does too. After the two of you finish your dinner, you help her clear the table and do the dishes. ‘Charlie, thank you very much for this evening. It was lovely.’ You smile down at her. ‘It was my pleasure, Mrs Hudson.’ When you finally step into your flat, you put down your work bag and lay down on your bed, staring at the ceiling. This really isn’t the type of mission you’re used to. 

He’s out on a case again, probably related to Hong Kong. You should keep an eye on them, wouldn’t want them messing with your new toy. - S

A few minutes pass before you get a response.

Thanks. I will. -JM

~~~~~~

The following days were spent in the same manner. Going for a run, going to work, working, going home, speaking to Mrs Hudson, and going to bed. It’s a repetitive routine and you suppose this is what most people do. You still haven’t seen much of Sherlock, but you supposed it makes sense when he’s on a case. One night, when you arrive home after a long day, you’re met by John who is about to leave. 

‘Oh hi Charlie, it’s been a while.’ You smile and nod  ‘It has indeed.’ He looks to be more dressed up than he usually is. ‘Going on a date?’ ‘I am. How did you know that?’ To be fair, you hadn’t really anticipated that question. ‘Well, usually you go out with Sherlock at night, you know, to solve cases and such. Seeing that he isn’t here with you, I just assumed.’ That wasn’t actually why you assumed, but it is what most people would probably say if they knew John for a long enough time. ‘Well, I won’t hold you up for much longer. Hope you have fun.’ Quietly, you pass him and open the door that had just closed. When you’re about to go in, he puts a hand on your shoulder. ‘Thank you, really.’ He says with a smile when you turn to face him. ‘Of course.’ You smile back before entering the building.

Before you’re able to enter your flat, you hear Sherlock running down the stairs. ‘Charlie,’ he looks around the corner,  ‘you’re right on time. Want to join me for a case?’ This is the opportunity you’d been waiting for. ‘Sure, I don’t see why not.’ You pretend to hesitate. ‘Though, I don’t think I’ll be of much help.’ His face contorts into something you don’t recognise. ‘Don’t fret about such things, John doesn’t tend to add much either. Besides, I think you’d be more of a help when it comes to this, with your job and all.’ When he finishes speaking he’s already halfway out the door. Quickly, you put your work bag inside and lock your flat before following the detective out the door.

You arrive at the circus shortly after John and Sarah, who are talking to the person giving out the tickets. ‘I’ve got two reserved for tonight.’ You hear John say as you approach. ‘What name is it?’ The lady at the ticket counter looks at him curiously. ‘Ehm… Holmes.’ Of course Sherlock has arranged this. Based on where it’s located and the theme of the circus, it’s likely to be related to the case, which John, of course, hadn’t anticipated. ‘Actually, I have four in that name.’ After he accepts the envelope with Sherlock’s name on it, he tells her that there must’ve been an error. ‘He booked two.’ Grabbing this opportunity to hijack John’s date, Sherlock finally approaches them. ‘And then I phoned and got one for me and Charlie as well.’ Sarah finally turns to face the two of you. ‘I’m Sherlock.’ You give her an awkward smile. ‘I’m Charlie.’

Sarah heads to the bathroom shortly after and John starts arguing with Sherlock. ‘You couldn’t let me have one night off?’ He looks at the detective accusingly before glancing at you. ‘I was not involved in the decision making, Sherlock just asked me to join him on a case and I accepted. I didn’t know we’d be crashing your date.’ You hold your hands up in defence. ‘True, I dragged them along.’ He states matter-of-factly. ‘Besides, the Yellow Dragon Circus! One day they’re in London. It fits. The Tong sent an assassin to England…’ He returns to his usual, somewhat excited, self. You’ve noticed he only speaks like this when it’s about a case or John. ‘Dressed up as a tightrope walker! Come on, Sherlock. Behave!’ The smaller man scolds the other. ‘A killer who can climb! Who can shin up a rope! Where else would you find that level of dexterity?’ He continues rambling about the possibilities and you start looking around the room. It’s clear that Sherlock is probably right about the assassin, though they probably also know of him looking into them. In the future he should consider being more careful when it comes to just walking into a place like this.‘Fine. You go ahead, I’ll take Sarah off for a pint.’ John sounds defeated. ‘I need your help.’ Sherlock states. ‘Look, I do have one or two other things on my mind this evening. Besides, you have Charlie with you. They are perfectly qualified to help you.’ The other man looks confused. ‘Like what?’ Of course, Sherlock’s one and only priority are his cases, there’s no room for trivial things such as romantic entanglements. Not consciously anyway. By the way he chooses to ignore the mention of you, there is reason to suspect there may be some underlying… interest. ‘You are kidding?’ John sounds shocked and annoyed. He really hasn’t gained full comprehension of how Sherlock works. ‘What’s so important?’ ‘Sherlock. I’m in the middle of a date. You want me to accost some killer whilst I’m trying to…’ Obviously Sherlock doesn’t understand at all. ‘What?’ John groans. ‘Whilst I’m trying -’ ‘John, I’ll try to keep Sherlock in check, sorry about all this.’ You grab the detective’s arm and drag him away as Sarah comes out of the toilet. John forces a smile as he turns to her. ‘Ready?’

[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. 😌

[yyh4ever]

What did you think of the live-action yu yu hakusho I confess that when I finished watching the first episode I had good expectations for the next ones but from episode 3 onwards they lost their hand.

To be honest, I loved it! They skipped all the introductory parts and got right down to the point. It's a rough adaptation of the original, but the action scenes are amazing! I felt the love of everyone involved towards Togashi's work. There were more highs than lows.

*CONTAINS SPOILERS*

Togashi wanted to draw a battle shounen, but since it was his first battle series, his editor advised him to take it easy at first. The first chapters were stand-alone adventures of Yusuke's spirit helping others. They weren't even adapted into the anime. Although I love those early stories, I don't think they are crucial to the story. I missed the comedy aspects though, that's what makes Yu Yu Hakusho so appealing. Yusuke's resurrection was a bit rushed, but I loved that "Hohoemi no Bakudan" (anime opening song) was playing on the truck's radio. I also didn't mind a 17-year old Yusuke or Kurama.

Even though they gave a more actual look to the characters, like Botan wearing peep-toes heels and Kuwabara with a dyed blonde hair instead of his iconic pompadour, we can still feel an atmosphere from the 90s in the scenery.

The stealing of the Artifacts of Darkness was so well adapted. Yusuke VS Gouki was an impressive fight. Masaru finally got to thank Yusuke, something that I missed in the original. Kurama telling his story to Yusuke at the hospital was genial as well. I think the motive that driven Hiei to steal the kouma sword in the live action suited him better. Togashi only made Hiei a main character because his editor told him so. That evil Hiei who kidnapped Keiko is so different from the Hiei who showed up later. Making Elder Toguro do the dirty job was more interesting! I'm just curious what they are going to do about Shigure in case of a second or third season. They probably have something in mind already!

Genkai's Tournament/Training was there in a different way. I don't care that much about Rando, but I missed all the pain the original Yusuke went thought to master the reiko hadouken technique. It was a little disappointing to see him absorbing the spirit wave with just an "okay". But, I'm glad they included some iconic moments of his training, like when he's upside-down balancing himself up with only his index finger on a needle.

Probably, what I missed the most was The Saint Beasts Arc. It was during this arc that the four guys got to know each other better and form a bond. Keiko and Botan also worked together and became friends. Considering the budget, I'm aware the live action didn't have time and money to produce it, they had to focus on the first big villain of Yu Hakusho, Younger Toguro.

Filming a whole Dark Tournament would be too hard, expensive, and maybe a little tiring to watch. Although the Rescue Yukina Arc and the Dark Tournament Saga were re-written, all elements from the original series were there:

They showed both Tarukane's mansion and The Hanging Neck Island;

Sakyo needed money to open a big hole to the Demon World. Goro Inagaki also slayed as Sakyo;

Younger Toguro wanted the same thing, he became too strong for the Human World;

Elder Toguro was insanely crazy. Probably, the best villain of Kenichi Takito's career;

A bunch of rich old dudes from BBC gambling;

Tarukane making Yukina cry to sell her hiruseki stones;

The random guy trying to help Yukina. Instead of killing her bird friends, Elder Toguro killed him.

There wasn't Botan and Keiko helping each other, but instead Keiko and Yukina teaming up, and I really enjoyed it;

Kuwabara falling in love at first sight, and asking Yukina to not hate all humans;

Best scenes and lines from Hiei VS Zeru and Kurama VS Roto were incorporated in the fights against Bui and Karasu;

Youko Kurama appeared! Jun Shison nailed it!

In the original, only Kuwabara didn't know about Genkai's death, I liked that in the live action Koenma kept it a secret from Yusuke as well. Elder Toguro making a puppet of Genkai out of his body was amazing!

Younger Toguro "killing" Kuwabara;

The memorable 100% Toguro VS Yusuke's spirit gun;

Sakyo telling the original plan was to make Toguro lose on purpose, so he could collect money from the rich. Also, betting his own life in front of Koenma;

It was interesting that Sakyo told his story and how he had bet his own life a few times to Tarukane instead of Toguro. I felt the Tarukane from the live action was a little bit more human. The actor did a pretty good job. Genkai's dead by the hands of Younger Toguro happened too quick and was disappointing, but they made up for that by showing their amazing goodbye scene in the Spirit World. Young Meiko Kaji was dazzling.

In the first episode, Koenma had sadness in his voice when he mentioned the former spirit detective. There was also that post-credits scene with Elder Toguro. I really hope there will be a second season. I think the Black Chapter Saga is much easier and more interesting to adapt.

I think those who have already read the manga or watched the anime, felt the love all the cast and staff have for Togashi's work. The new generation will probably buy the manga and watch the anime. The live action will surely bring new fans to the Yu Yu Hakusho franchise!

Netflix announced a new One Piece anime by Wit, made in partnership with Toei Animation. I'm also hoping that with the huge success of the live action, some anime studio or even Studio Pierrot will produce a remake of the Yu Yu Hakusho anime too.

By the way, I recommend watching the "Making of Yu Yu Hakusho". The main cast talks about all the trial-and-error process during the shoot. Action Director Takahito Ouchi also shares behind-the-scenes stories. They gave their blood to shoot this series! RESPECT!