#i just can't stop laughing whenever i even think about this quote

[watarfallar]

If I had a nickel for every time I posted an incorrect quotes dump, I'd have a lot of nickles!

BigB: What if I lied this whole time and I'm actually 18? Mumbo: BigB, stop trying to get drugs. BigB: Don't suppress my interests.

Lizzie: Oh, my God. Do you know what this is? Jimmy: It’s a book. There’s a lot of those in here, this is a library.

Tango: Don’t stay up all night, Ren. Last time you got this sleep-deprived, you tried to eat your own shirt.

Scar: Guys, there’s a monster under my bed and it’s really ugly. Gem, on the bottom bunk: Honestly, fuck you.

Etho: Gem has no idea I’m high. Gem: You’re high? Etho: Oh, I’m sorry. Etho, leaning over to Grian: Gem has no idea I’m high.

Martyn: Why don't we just call it, "M.C. Donald's?" Scar: Because it just sounds like a stupid rapper's name. Cleo: It'd just be like- "Eyo, it's ya boy, M.C. Donald!"

Scar: What did you guys get in your yearbook? Grian: 'Prettiest Smile' Joel: 'Nicest Personality' Ren: 'Most likely to start a bar fight' Cleo: 'Least likely to start a bar fight, but most likely to win one'

Impulse: I don't follow the rules. I follow dogs on social media.

Pearl: So I’m the only one around here who can clean up, huh? You can't even lift a finger? Tango: Do I get to pick the finger?

Jimmy, talking to Impulse: Well Impulse, whenever I’m about to do something, I think ‘would Gem do that?’ and if they would, I do not do that thing. Impulse: … Gem, from the distance: They’re not wrong though!

Pearl: If I can't cause tiny bits of chaos every day, I think my body will shut down.

BigB: Tango, what if there are monsters? Tango: Don’t worry, we’re top of the food chain. Much later… BigB, lying awake at night: I am the monster.

Pearl: If we don’t get out of this alive… If we’re both about to die… I love you, Gem! *Neither of them die* Gem: … Pearl: … Gem: So do you wanna talk about somethi- Pearl: No thank you.

Bdubs: Aww, what's your dog's name? Tango: Spartacus. Bdubs, yelling to Martyn: TRY SPARTACUS! Martyn, on the computer: DIDN'T WORK! Tango: Bdubs: What's your favorite number?

Scott: Don’t say a word. Impulse: Fergalicious. Scott: Impulse, I said no words. Impulse: Oh, I see how it works. Two weeks ago, we’re playing Scrabble, it’s not a word, now suddenly it is a word because it’s convenient for you.

Skizz, writing in their diary with a glitter gel pen: I'm losing my sense of humanity. Nothing matters. God is dead. There's blood on my hands.

Cleo: Who wants to make fifty bucks? Tango: How? Cleo: I need someone to take the fall. Tango: What did you do? Cleo: I can't tell you. Yes or no, no questions asked. Etho, from the other room: Oh my god. Cleo: ... Etho: OH MY GOD! Tango: Make it a hundred. Cleo: Deal.

Mumbo: So jellyshish- Grian, laughing: JELLYSHISH!? Mumbo: You know what I meant!

Cleo: We can't lose. Because we have this. *points to their chest* Skizz: We have heart? Cleo: Heart? No, me. I'm pointing at myself. I'm going to win this for us.

Etho: Do you even have a plan? Tango: This is the plan! I break you out, chaos, destruction, something something something, we win! Etho: Oh, of course, the old “something something something we win”. That’s a terrible plan!

Pearl: Why is it that I always lose things as soon as I need them? Grian: Actually, it's not that you lose things when you need them. You lose them a while before. It's just that you LOOK for things when you need them. Pearl: Okay yeah thanks Grian, that's great but WHERE'S THE FUCKING FIRST AID KIT?

Scar: And I’d love to be sorry for that, but we all know I’ve done much, much worse.

[dalesramblingsblog]

Petition to have "I forgot he was black tonight for an hour" enshrined alongside "I would have voted for Obama a third time" in the pantheon of white liberal cluelessness.

[bygiornogiovanna]

Bro, hear me out,

Bucci squad after unintentionally or intentionally saying something to piss off the reader and reacting to them saying "SORRY I CANT HEAR YOU OVER THE EARTH SHATTERING PROSTATE ORGASM I JUST GAVE YOUR DAD"

I KNOW THAT QUOTE IS FROM SOMEHWERE ELSE BUT PLEASE BARE WITH ME HERE ID LOVE TO SEE THIS WRITTEN IN ONE SHOT FORMAT OR WHATEVER FORMAT YOU CAM DO FOR THIS GAMG MADE UP OF TEENAGERS AND FED UP ADULTS

YOU HAVE MY REGRETS

-ANON

THIS IS SO FUNNY I'M LITERALLY DYING

I apologize profoundly for how long this took. I've been busy and i kind of forgot about this account

ok here's how i think they'll react

Bucciarati

You liked stylish things, that's one thing everybody knew. And you would go feral if somebody insulted that;

Therefore, Bucciarati knew exactly how to get on your nerves whenever you got on his;

"At least I have a sense of style. For someone who's obsessed with that topic, dress better" he said rolling his eyes and the moment you processed what he said, the glare in your eyes said everything;

After a few seconds, you came up with the best reply that would surely make him cry;

"SORRY I CANT HEAR YOU OVER THE EARTH SHATTERING PROSTATE ORGASM I JUST GAVE YOUR DAD" you yelled, acting like you couldn't hear a thing;

The other guys were also present at your...argument? and they immediately burst into laughter. Even Abbacchio was smiling;

Meanwhile, Bruno was flabbergasted. He never heard you say such things and he was so shocked that he started laughing. He couldn't bring himself to be offended;

"Excuse you?" he said, raising a brow. "You heard me, manwhore! I fucked your dad!" you continued and the rest of the room started laughing again. What was this, a comedy show?

"Is it fine if I call him to ask him?" Bruno smirked, taking his phone out.

Abbacchio

You and Abbacchio didn't argue often due to him not responding to your yelling, making you calm down and talk normally;

However...This time he was not in the mood to hear you complaining about him not doing the dishes, especially since he was talking with the guys;

"Stop ignoring me, shithead!" you yelled. "If you talked less or started saying things that could actually captivate my attention, I would." he said calmly and you felt your ears burn with rage;

"OH, I'M SORRY, I CAN'T HEAR YOU OVER THE EARTH SHATTERING PROSTATE ORGASM I JUST GAVE YOUR DAD" you screamed after a few seconds, and the whole room went silent;

Abbacchio's brows furrowed and everybody laughed at your reply, except Giorno, who stopped when Leone glared at him. "What are you laughing at?"

"Hey, shut the fuck up, you're agruing with me, not with Giorno!" you said, bringing his attention back to you;

"You are arguing with yourself, so shut up. I'll deal with you later."

Narancia

You and Narancia were in a relationship and also in a never-ending competition. Everything between you two was a competition. From who got the groceries first to who made the best cookies;

So, naturally, when you heard Narancia discussing about how he was better than you behind your back, you were fuming;

"You motherfucker, learn to wash your boxers then come at me!" you yelled while slamming the door open;

"Huh?" Narancia was taken aback by your yelling, as were the others. "You heard me fucker!"

"At least i wear lingerie so you can wash something." he replied almost instantly and you were beyond shock. The AUDACITY he had. Without thinking about what you were about to say, you yelled:

"OH, I'M SORRY, I CAN'T HEAR YOU OVER THE EARTH SHATTERING PROSTATE ORGASM I JUST GAVE YOUR DAD"

The guys burst out in laughter and Narancia was literally flabbergasted. He looked so shocked and, in a few moments, he jumped at your neck;

By the terrifying look in his eyes, while he was holding your jaw locked with his hand, you realized that you touched a soft spot;

"How dare you talk about that scumbag as if he could ever catch your eye."

Fugo

It was pretty easy to piss off Fugo, so you two argued every day. You loved annoying people, you found it so funny when they got all worked up over nothing, so you naturally annoyed him for fun. Simply because you found it entertaining;

One day, while the boys were over discussing who knows what, you innocently went to Fugo and asked him the most stupid and useless math question ever: How many angles does a triangle have?

The boys gave you a look and, before you could say something, Fugo snapped. "Are you kidding me? Are you this stupid? How dumb can you be? How is it possible for you to ask me that?" he yelled and you frowned.

"I'm genuinely curious! Why are you being so aggressive?!" you said, trying to be offened. What made your question even more stupid was that your major was mathematics;

"How did you even finish financial analysis?" oh no. He did not just say that! You were now offened and, without thinking, you screamed at him:

"OH, I'M SORRY, MY DUMB EARS CAN'T HEAR YOU OVER THE EARTH SHATTERING PROSTATE ORGASM I JUST GAVE YOUR DAD"

At that, everyone but Fugo laughed out loud, while you stared at him angrily. The boy had no reaction, except:

"Get out of here before I rip your neck off, we'll talk about that later."

Giorno

Unlike Fugo or Narancia, Giorno wasn't easy to annoy and he never saw you as a competition. You only argued once in your entire relationship;

You were in his lap while you and the boys were at a terrace, hanging out as usual;

Somehow, the discussion shifted to how the boys wanted their significant other to be and, after Fugo said he'd like his to be quiet, Giorno made a comment about how you were never quiet;

It wasn't a remark, he loved your loud side, but he honestly wished you weren't that loud, especially in public;

So, after the conversation moved on, he called your name a few times and you ignored him. "Cara, why aren't you talking to me?";

"OH, I'M SORRY, I CAN'T HEAR YOU OVER THE EARTH SHATTERING PROSTATE ORGASM I JUST GAVE YOUR DAD" you suddenly said a little louder and your table went quiet;

After a second, all of them, except Giorno, started laughing while the other people gave you looks;

"That was extremely unnecessary, tesoro."

Mista

You two were the loudest, most annoying couple ever. You two were always bickering, always saying dumb jokes and always, but always laughing louder than you should;

It was a funny thing. If people saw you two arguing, throwing insults at each other, they would think you two were the biggest enemies;

You were over at his house, waiting for the others to come for dinner. You were placing the plates down, when Mista suddenly made fun of you:

"You can't even place some plates without looking stupid." he said, giggling softly at the annoyed glare you gave him. "No answer, hun? Cat got your tounge?" he kept going after you returned to placing the cutlery down on the table;

You kept ignoring him, but he continued to make fun of you and, after a few minutes, you were fuming, so you yelled at him:

"OH, I'M SORRY, I CAN'T HEAR YOU OVER THE EARTH SHATTERING PROSTATE ORGASM I JUST GAVE YOUR DAD!" Mista fell quiet and stared at you;

"Is that so?" You weren't sure what was going to happen next, because in his eyes he had a mix of surprise, anger and...desire?

"I was not expecting to hear this when I entered, but hello to you too." Bruno said while he was standing in the door frame;

Mista went closer to your ear before all of the boys entered and whispered:

"Wait until they are over, you might have something to prove after."

[fcknstar]

Hey, how are you?

I would like to make a wish for number 3

Of the character Marcus Lopez

(If possible, could the jealousy be on the part of the reader?)

,, building blocks "

pairings : marcuslopez x fem!reader ( lara )

summary : sometimes you cant force yourself to do things you dont want, maybe this time you can.

content warnings : jealousy, (possible) unrequited love.

** lowercase intended **

it was normal for people to make friends..right? new student, getting to know one another from their own category. what more can one ask for? 

it was rare to see students from different ranks mix, too rare. but here you are, watching saya wrap her hands around marcus. a sickening sight for you. you and saya relatively knew marcus at the same time, hers more intimate. you cant help but sigh at the thought that marcus might not even consider you as a friend. he should be lucky you were there to stop chiko from slicing his throat the first time he met him. 

" pretty rancid, mate? tough love, tough love. " lex appeared next to you, smoking a blunt. 

" im not in love with marcus. "

" who said anything about him? " 

" fuck you. " lex sighed. he knew you for long enough to read you like a book. it was like reading in another language, you just got to guess and hope for the best. lex was always lucky. 

" c'mon, lara. him? you could do so much better. " willie stood next to you. 

" willie, dont be a dick. " lex sighed. 

" well, its in his name. cant blame him. " you earned a nudge from willie, who glared at you. lex on the other hand, cheered you on. 

" atta girl! "

" atta girl. " willie mocked, " shes not your girl. "

" well, she can be. " lex winked at you. 

you can't help but think whether you just were jealous because you cared about him, or that you cared about him too much that you heart beats faster, threatening you. 

laughing at the possibility of you liking marcus, you invited lex and willie to grab a drink, trying to drown the thoughts of what saya and marcus may be doing. 

★

" hey lara! " marcus happily planted himself by your side the next morning. 

" morning. " you bluntly reply, the said thoughts also planting itself in your mind almost immediately. 

" i didnt see you at the party last night, where were you? "

" i- " you were rudely interrupted by lex. 

" well mate, she was there. you were just too busy with saya to even notice. " lex often had no filter. 

" lex- " you were then rudely interrupted by marcus. 

" you were? shit, im sorry- "

" its whatever. " shit. that was the wrong response. it made you sound like you were hurt, and you often put a tough facade. its fine was always your go to answer, but what happened just now just slipped, like how your heart started to slip through its designated holder, right into marcus hands. 

you continued to walk as if everything was alright, lex pursing his lips with marcus struggling to get a word out. he had felt guilty for not seeing you when he begged you to come to the party with him and the rest, quoting that you can protect them. but that feeling fell when he saw saya. 

" hey saya! "  he greeted with much more enthusiasm than how he greeted you. its not like you payed attention. but there he is, following says like a lost puppy. 

" fucking hell, love. think you might wanna cut ties with him. " 

" dont you think that's a bit far fetch? " i stopped walking, turning to him. 

" well no? with the way he just left us, i mean you for her? woah. id be lucky to even have you breathing the same air as me. " 

" its fine lex.. "

" its most definitely is not. i can see that you like him, or i think you do. and hes not worth the time. your time! " 

" and i should be taking advice from a guy who sniffs the live out of glue? " you chuckle. it was fun having lex around, he knew how to stand his own ground and knew how to influence others to do the same. 

★ 

you thought about what lex said. you didnt want to just break off a friendship just because your heart ached whenever he was with someone and not you. maybe you should have just cut off your feelings because marcus eventually caught on to the sudden changes in your behavior. 

" hey lara. " he greeted. 

you just hummed. just like clockwork, you would just hum. not even share a word with him. not even a glance. the star he once saw in your eye whenever he was around just vanished. he noticed how you hung out with your own league more, besides lex and petra. 

" look saya, i really need to go now. " he winced before running off. him and saya was just having their own time chatting and drinking when he noticed the time. 8.15pm. he was late, 15 minutes late. it was the time whenever you had to spare. he knew, because you would often spend that time with him even if it was your only time to breathe. but you chose it to be with him. 

marcus ran to your dorm, praying you were still in there. 

" lara! " he saw you turn in confusion, after shutting your dorm room door. 

" hey. " he greeted, properly. 

" hi. " you never say hi. unless you want nothing with the said person. 

" you free? or… " he glanced at your outfit which looked like you were dressing up for a date. that made him furrow his eye brows, heart sinking lower into the depths. 

" no. why? " you dryly replied. 

" well, you wanna go out? spend some time together like we used to? " he offered. 

you had worked so hard rebuilding your guard that he easily broke down like building blocks. and now it was shaking. 

[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. 😌

[starkittensblog]

What’s some of your favourite bellow head canons? :3

Oooffff... I had to spend some time to remember them. There's something I remembered (kinda cringy)

Old married couple™️

Touch love language. Tons of touching. No touching—no love

Yellow is touch starved, especially after era 2.

Yellow never forgave herself for trying to poof Blue

Blue is such a teaser. Loves annoying Yellow

Rule №1—never tell Blue you were struggling with making your hair or you'll spend a few hours more

Yellow loves making Blue laugh/Blue can't even tell jokes because she bursts out laughing before finishing them

Yellow was the reason Blue found out her new powers bc Blue realized she never wanted making HER suffer in the first place

Blue feels better when uses her aura on someone and Yellow was visiting her to share her pain

Yellow's traumatized too but hates to show it. But Blue knows it perfectly

Blue is younger, Yellow's the oposite

Almost the same height but not when Yellow's wearing her heels

(Not my quote) Blue fell first, Yellow fell harder

Blue likes comfort, Yellow's down for fashion

Blue is a goddess of gymnastics, usually makes Yellow exercise with her. Yellow is... really bad at it

Both loved sleeping since era 3. Especially on Blues clouds. Especially together

Blue loves human tv-dramas. Yellow pretends to not

"Yellow's a complete dumbass when it comes to Blue"—White just censored this word

Yellow is aware of Blue having the panic attacks sometimes and she knows how to act

When Blue's in anger Yellow is scared as a little kitten

Blue always steals her clothing

Yellow don't like showing affection in public but doesn't care if she's caught in the middle of making out

✨️Green✨️

Yellow studied a lot about about Blues home planet bc she couldn't wait to meet the new gem

Blue would often forcefully make Yellow stop doing her work to get rest

Sometimes Yellow shows the true knight behavior™️ towards Blue

Yellow's getting tickled easily and Blue KNOWS it >:)

Training fights! Never have a mercy on each others

Usually venting to each other about others. Venting to White and Spinel about each other

Sometimes being a toxic duo

Singing together a lot

Yellow's a cat person

Dancing together, their favorite dances are valtz, tango and rumba

Whenever they're fighting they never think about breaking up

Yellow likes to carry Blue in her hands

Yellow usually thinking about Blue when hearing love songs and she HATES it

Yellow with back pains mhm

Still have their extraction chambers, love hanging out there. Combing each other's hair.

Tissues for Blue!

Love dating in the special places

...Sorry, lazy to think of more

[beautyofsorrow]

fic author q&a

tagged by @onmytallesttiptoesspinning :)

why do you write fanfic?

my brain is a kinder space to live inside when i write, and fic is the quickest way to get words down on the page these days. also, thinking about the characters is not enough. i need to put them in enclosures and study them. i need to take notes. i need to read those notes obsessively. i need to scatter my toys all over the carpet and invite my friends to admire and compliment them and play.

which of your posted stories do you think of the most even though the story is "finished"?

...........this one. it's definitely this one.

if you could give yourself fic advice from when you first started writing fic, what would that advice be?

stop quoting bible verses. let the characters curse. don't freak out when a b7 shipper shows up in the comments section of your friendship fic, you're not going to get sent to hell for being interpreted as writing gay fanfiction. in fact, give it another ten years and you WILL be writing gay fanfiction. on purpose. with your whole chest. please put the jadzia and worf action figures down and back away slowly, you're just gay for dax, you do not really ship them.

what's your relationship to fic stats?

unfriended, blocked, reported. i have workskins installed so i can only see my total word count. on individual works i can see word count, chapter count, and whether the fic is in a collection or not but that is IT. my life has gotten immeasurably better since i did this

is there a pairing or scenario or friendship that you miss writing? if so, why? if not, why not?

raffi & rios. my god i miss raffi & rios. every day i yearn for the day i can take that box off the highest shelf of the closet and open it back up

what motivates you to write?

brainworms. literally the characters are in my head and i need to get them out. if they stay there too long shit starts getting rancid. i also really enjoy participating in gift exchanges because it gives me a deadline, structure, and a community that is focused on writing rather than a specific fandom. we are all cheering each other on in our various anonymous projects and it's so great!

why do you write for the fandom(s) you write for?

mostly it's because a character or characters have crawled inside my brain. sometimes they're there for a month or a season, other times i come back to them multiple times over a span of many years (star trek is the main example here). since entering the exchange scene i have occasionally picked up one-off fandoms if a pinch hit needed filling or if i needed to make myself matchable in order to participate. i've created some of my favorite fics that way and written far outside my comfort zone. it's great :)

if you're stuck writing a WIP, what do you do?

take a break. take a break take a break take a break. let the story breathe. let myself breathe. come at it from a different angle. read poetry. steal the poem's bones. use them as a scaffold. if all else fails tuck the work into the abandoned folder so i can't see it anymore but do not under any circumstance delete. it's not a failed story. it's just not the right time yet. no work is wasted work. it all breaks down into compost. every tributary feeds a lake.

what do you wish people knew about comments?

whenever i post a fic, there is an absolutely agonizing period of time between posting and first comments when i am very seriously considering deleting my entire internet presence and disappearing into the mountains. this is a me thing. i understand that. i've come up with various coping strategies through the years with mild success, but no matter how much i believe in the work or how much coaching i provide for my brain, there is always that voice in the back of my head that wonders what if it's actually bad. what if it's really really bad. what if they're pointing and laughing and making fun of me. comments shut that voice up. comments provide tangible, outside-of-my-brain proof that the words i wrote made a positive difference in someone else's day, and sometimes they make a difference in ways i never expected. you do not have to tell an author that you like their fics, but when you do, you are never ever bothering them. they're not thinking you're a weirdo or a creep. they're actually probably grinning in relief. they're backing away from the delete button. they're unpacking their suitcase. they're breathing more easily and re-opening the word doc and showing up at the sandbox of creativity to play another day.

maybe there's a question you wish had been on here. what's that question (and answer)? -> what are some fanworks that have inspired you or fed your own creativity?

Candy and Chlorine by scioscribe is so sharp and smart and sexy. 100% biggest inspiration for my jennifer's body fic An Unofficial Anthology of the Online Fandom for the Yellowjackets Tragedy by banerries is so CREATIVE and so FUNNY. it reminds me that at the end of the day fic is supposed to be about play i recommend this barbie/dracula fic to a different friend at least once a month. stunning character study, so unusual, i love love love crack treated seriously a little lower than the angels by mylittleredgirl got me to see the vision of b'elanna/kes for one lovely lovely sitting. i am forever grateful to rarepair writers. they encourage me to think deep, write hard, and trust the process of creativity @stardustcityhag's art is stunning. i am always on some level trying to channel the feeling of it when i'm writing @zannolin's fics consistently feed my desire for delicious-ambiguous-something-amphibious not-shipfic-but-not-not-shipfic. i've written some of my best and most favorite fics after reading their work. their national treasure polycule fic pops into my brain at least once a month. i adore it @73chn1c0l0rr3v3l's smut is some of my favorite smut in the whole world. so sensuous, so vivid, so lush and vivid and aching. i am always at all times meditating on this una/la'an bathhouse thunderstorm fic they wrote me. also, this una/nhan breathplay fic. and this satanic panic fic. and this la'an + insomnia one. i could go on

tagging @zannolin and @ceruleanphoenix7

[moonlightdreamzz]

QUICK STOP — MINHYUK

<3 You didn’t think Minhyuk was going to have a day off and not stop by and see you, did you?

THEMES ✰ Angst w/ glimpses of fluff. Reader and Minhyuk have a very confusing relationship.

NOTE ✰ Seeing Minhyuk literally made me feral…so I had to quickly write about how it made me feel, but me being so angsty it just took a turn.

9:00AM

“I have something to tell you. Don’t be mad at me.”

You take a deep breath, your mind already preparing for the worst to leave his lips. The facial expression he’s currently wearing isn’t angry though, or guilty, which is making everything even more confusing for you.

“Wait, I’m sorry.” His palm holds itself up to his screen; a signal for you to not freak out like you always do whenever he does anything unpredictable around you. “We talked about this.”

Your eyebrow raises in synchronization with the smile you can never keep hidden whenever he’s doing anything in your direction. Whether it be staring, speaking, breathing, whatever; you can’t help it.

“Mhm.” You encourage slyly.

He continues, “And I promised you I wouldn’t say ‘I have to tell you something’ without proceeding to immediately say what I have to tell you, because if not, it makes you, and I quote, ‘want to slam your head into a wall’. So I’m sorry.”

Your laughter escapes your throat so hard that it hurts a little. Minhyuk is cracking up just as hard as you, and it feels like as soon as one of you has caught your breath, the other snorts, and all progress goes to shit. Your phone is now on the floor even though you don’t know when it fell.

“When did you get that phone? Like in January?” Minhyuk wheezes. You find it difficult to recall the exact duration it takes for him to regain his composure because you are laughing more than he is now. “This is like the 200th time you’ve dropped it. Speaking of, have you taken that old ass screen protector off? It’s clearly been through enough.”

“How about you buy me one, since you got so much to say.” You scold as you hop off your bed to retrieve his virtual presence. The moment you step onto the floor, a sudden chill zaps through your body, causing your laughter to briefly freeze in mid-air. It's like the floor is playing a cruel prank on you, reminding you of its icy presence as a rude awakening to reality. If Minhyuk was here, he would have foreseen this frigid encounter and saved the day with his thoughtfulness.

He possesses an extraordinary talent for predicting where your tired, exposed feet would seek refuge in the morning. Your slippers would have been here. If only he were here in this chilly moment, you think, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

“Cold feet?” He teases, as always, knowing what you’re thinking without you having to say anything.

His smile is brighter than you've seen it in a long time as he gazes adoringly at you over the phone. You're curious what he's thinking and what he's been up to this week. He certainly has been eating well, which warms your heart because he was constantly anxious before enlisting, focusing on everything but himself. You've missed him in every way, but you can't bring yourself to tell him.

The saga of your relationship reads like a bestselling novel. It's a tale of tangled emotions and unspoken truths, a rollercoaster ride of passion and confusion. You both know there's something between you that defies any clear definition, something beyond the boundaries of conventional romance. A connection so intense that it keeps pulling you back together, no matter how hard you try to resist.

You're head over heels for him, and he claims to feel the same way. But there's always a lingering doubt, a whisper in the back of your mind questioning the authenticity of his words. Is this love or just a twisted game? Can two people who share such an undeniable chemistry remain in this perpetual state of limbo, reluctant to label their feelings?

You feel yourself drowning in his orbs. Those beautiful brown eyes of his that matches yours are your home. You often think to yourself though, who else has found refuge in his eyes when the two of you haven’t spoken in weeks?

“You have something to tell me?”

Did his phone freeze? His eyes are clearly on you, but he’s not responding.

“Minhyuk?” You chuckle with a pure expression of confusion resting on your features.

He appears to come out of a trance you weren't aware he was in, blinking repeatedly to test whether his unconscious heard what you said to him. "I apologize. What did you say?” He asks, embarrassedly touching the back of his neck. Was he blushing? "I'm looking at the most beautiful woman on the planet. I'm a little disoriented right now."

That was another thing that terrified you about your lover. Were you even allowed to call him that? No matter, he talked so damn good. He could sell you a beach house in Idaho if you wanted to. Regardless of the confusion between the two of you, you trusted him wholeheartedly. Your concerns and uncertainties were cut away by his smooth tongue like a bullet made of gold, leaving you captivated by his alluring charisma. He had an answer for every ask, a fix for every issue, and a promise for every aspiration.

“I’m off tomorrow.”

You immediately beam, hoping he's telling you this because he's going to spend the entire day with you doing everything you enjoy. You may make him his favorite depending on when he arrives, but if he arrives too early, the two of you can find somewhere to sneak off to, right? You can also order takeout. Sure, take out—

Mingyuk took a photo

“I’m sorry.” He apologies, his naughty tone showing that he is indeed not sorry at all. “You just looked so cute smiling at me like that. I’ll send it to you.”

Before you can even start scolding him for snapping terrible pictures of you, you remember the second part of what he started this entire conversation with.

Don’t be mad at me.

“Why would I be mad at you for having a day off?”

“Because…I’m not going to be able to see you.”

Confusion always has to be present, right? You can't possibly be angry. If you told this story to anyone else, they'd advise you to be grateful that he cares enough about your sentiments to tell you what he's doing. It didn't make the pain go away, either. You can't help but wonder if he would come see you if you were his girlfriend.

“Don’t do that, baby. It’s not like that.” He assures. “The concert is tomorrow, and I really want to see you, but I haven’t seen them in forever. If they weren’t performing I could split the time, but it’s been a while since I’ve been with Monbebes and the boys. I hope you understand.”

What we’re you going to say? No Minhyuk, don’t go and support the people who have had your back since before we even met. Spend time with me instead, the person who you haven’t seen in months, isn’t your girlfriend, and probably never will be? You damn sure wanted to, but you can’t.

If he were here right now, he'd be softly rubbing your back, looking for traces of rage or hurt in your eyes. He despised inflicting pain on you. He'd press his lips to yours, expecting you not to kiss him back but hoping you would. Of course, you'd never be so unhappy with him that you'd refuse him his treasured kisses.

"Thank you, babygirl. You’re so understanding." He always replies to your devotion, planting a sensual kiss to the side of your head before peppering kisses on your neck.

You put on a brave face. He knows it's a ruse, and you know it, but you're not feeling charitable enough right now to fake it to the point where he believes you're actually happy with it.

“It’s cool, shawty.” Is all you can muster in the moment.

What was once a vibrant phone call full with delightful laughing and admiration has suddenly turned cold—or so the aura feels for you. You haven't found the words to bring the vibe from earlier back, and you know him; he wants to move on from this subject now, but based on previous arguments, he doesn't want you to think he doesn't care about your feelings, because he does.

You haven't talked to him in a long time, so moping about it is worthless. Breaking the silence was in his best interest, and regrettably, satisfying him meant more to you than it should have given how un-defined the two of you are.

“You wanna hear about my week?”

His smile glows through your phone once more, exactly like it did when you answered it the first time. You can tell he's sighing with relief. He's not sure if you want to keep talking to avoid feeling guilty, or if it's sincere, but he doesn't care. You're well aware of it. He always says to you, “I just want us to be okay. Always.”

“Now you know I didn’t call just to talk about me. Tell me everything, and don’t leave anything out.”

8:00PM

Despite how childish it seems, you promised yourself that you wouldn't check Twitter today. Of course you failed. All day, your timeline has been filled with Minhyuk looking so damn good. You two stayed on FaceTime for hours yesterday, giving you plenty of opportunity to admire his unrivaled attributes, yet a phone conversation doesn't do him justice, and neither does a photograph. You wanted him right now.

His white sweater suited his tan skin beautifully, and you were drawn to the way his muscles, which you had no idea had expanded so much, were attempting to escape from it. He’s the only man that has to ability to make you quiver at a simple photo of him.

Had he been here, instead of there, the second he walked through your door you wouldn’t have hesitated to rip it off. He wouldn’t have questioned you for a moment, missing you just as much as you’ve missed him. The two of you would have made love all over the house, probably until the morning time, and it would fill the gap inside you from not being able to call him yours—temporarily of course.

With Minhyuk absent, the empty house lies before you, beckoning you to decide how you will occupy yourself in his absence. Now is the time to contemplate and plan your activities, to explore the rooms and corners, and to find solace or adventure within the walls that surround you.

But you'd rather sit on your couch and do nothing, which is the exact opposite of what Minhyuk would like. He used to make fun of you for lazing around the house all day.

You have no recollection of falling asleep. After an hour or two of scrolling through Tiktok, your vision went fuzzy, and your grasp on your phone became increasingly shaky before dropping to the floor, much like it did on the phone with him the day before.

12:00AM

He hasn't been here in what seems like an eternity. Despite the recent distance between you two, his heart feels warm as he looks at the wreath packed with red tulips that is still hanging on your door. He remembers it as if it were yesterday—you couldn't believe him when he said it was what he wanted you two to make one for anniversary of you two meeting, because you never believed that you genuinely mean something to him.

He types in your passcode, stepping into your cozy apartment. Instinctively he inhales the brisk air that smells of lavendar and another scent that he can’t quite put his finger on.

As he looks around your place, he giggles to himself in adoration. “This girl…she really thought I wasn’t coming.”

Minhyuk hasn't even begun looking for you yet. He figures you're in your room, knocked out cold, because he doesn't hear feet dashing into your closet, nor did you try to come out with a lousy excuse for a weapon—yet another thing he chastised you for on a daily basis. He confidently strides into your kitchen, his eyes scanning the room, immediately recognizing the disarray that has become all too familiar to him. He knows, without a doubt, that your seasonings need to be meticulously arranged in their designated spots, and there are a few dishes lingering in the sink, patiently waiting for attention.

It doesn’t take him long to tidy up in there. He walks further into your apartment, prepared to pick up your clothes he’s certain you stripped off earlier before you went to bed, that he hears your little snores. When he sees you, snuggled up to the soft, cozy blanket that he carefully picked out for you a few months ago, his heart practically leaps out of his chest. The sight of you wrapped in that warm embrace brings a flood of joy and contentment, knowing that he was able to provide you with comfort and happiness.

His knees, slightly bent, fall naturally to your side with a light thump as he quietly settles next to you. In this moment, he wrestles with a choice: should he wake you up, gently brushing his fingertips against your cheek to rouse you from slumber? Or should he carefully lift you up in his strong, comforting arms, carrying you to bed like a precious treasure? As he contemplates his decision, he can't help but smile at the thought of tomorrow, knowing he will capture the beauty of the present moment by snapping a photo of himself holding you tight in his chest, a symbol of love and protection. Then though, you’ll be upset that he didn’t wake you.

His hands move to your shoulder, gently shaking you. Not to his surprise, you don’t budge.

“Kisses it is, huh?”

His lips continue to press irritatingly wet kisses all over your face, causing your nose to wrinkle up and your eyes to clench up like an irritated teenager. You try to turn the other direction, but he holds you down and prevents you from moving. Minhyuk is relieved that it's him in here with you and not some stranger, because your survival abilities are pitiful.

“Y/N.” He says sternly, although his smile is as radiant as it always is when he’s looking at you.

Your eyes begin to flutter open unexpectedly. You're not sure whether to yell, cry, or both. Your eyesight isn't the best, but even in your waking disorientation, do you realize who's standing in front of you?

“Minhyuk?” Your voice is raspy and filled with utter confusion. “What are you doing here? What the fuc—

His kisses you instantly, and whatever the feeling is called when you feel like your body is exploding with every emotion at once, that’s how you feel. You want more, and you attempt to pull him on top of you, but he stays put. You whine into his mouth, causing him to chuckle at you before pulling away.

“Don’t do this to me right now.” You protest.

Minhyuk takes a deep breath. The kind he takes when he‘s in the midst of making a choice that’s for the greater good, but not exactly what he wants to do.

“I want to do that. So bad.” He begins. He adjusts his collar that you just a minute ago had a very seductive grip on, and when he touches it he swears he’s right back into that moment with you. “And we will, but I haven’t seen you in two months and I don’t have long. Isn’t it wrong for that to be the first thing we do?”

“If I wasn’t crazy, I would say you actually care about me.” You laugh, absolutely and thoroughly in love with the man in front of you right now. This is the man who has captured your heart. This is the person who knows just what to say and when to say it. His eyes are sparkling as they take you whole, swallowing any resentment you felt toward him when you thought he wouldn't stop by. You can’t help but to leap into his arms, squeezing tight as you still haven’t processed how real this moment is.

He laughs as well, but his tone his somber as well as his smile. “Why do you always say that?” He questions. “That I don’t care?”

Maybe this is the reason why you aren’t his girlfriend. All you ever did was question him and his feelings for you. Minhyuk always said to you that one of his favorite things about you is how outspoken you are. How you’re never afraid to say how you feel, or how other peoples actions make you feel. But in this moment, and every other doubting moment the two of you have shared does it feel like all you do is fuck things up even worse.

He’s looking at you, but you’re now looking through him. Minhyuk didn’t mean to send you inside your head, feeling embarrassed for saying what’s on your mind. He really just wants to understand.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—I was just making a little joke.” You attempt to cover.

“No you weren’t. And that’s okay. I just want to know why you always say that.”

You two couldn’t be about to argue after not seeing eachother in two months, right?

You don’t want to say the wrong thing, but you know you have to say something. His eyes are becoming impatient with you. You know he’s wondering why say such a thing if you can’t tell me why you said it when asked.

“I don’t want to fight.” Is all you can muster, shooting your eyes to ceiling. Let it go, Minhyuk. Is all you can think to yourself. The tension is getting thick, practically suffocating you. You just want to have a beautiful night with him. You want him to make love to you, and you want to fall asleep in his arms. You want to wake up before him, watching him sleep soundly before getting up to make his favorite breakfast. You want to tell him how much you love him. Not this.

“Tired of doing that.”

So, he really wants to do this?

“What are we, Minhyuk?”

Now he’s the one unable to find the words.

He pretends to contemplate. You know it’s insincere, because he looks to the left of him while he thinks instead of the right—a tell sign of him pretending to do something. He often did this when he was trying to surprise you with a date, claiming the two of you were going one place, when in reality he was taking you to some expensive restaurant.

“I love you.” He says confidently. You don’t know why you were waiting for him to say more. You want to laugh out loud, but you can’t, because the laugh will turn into a pitiful cry.

“That’s it?”

“No. I just—we talked about this, baby. I love you, and you love me, and we’re figuring this out. You’ve been through a lot with love and so have I. I just wanna enjoy this, because this,” he places his thumb to your cheek, rubbing it softly before continuing, “this is a beautiful thing that I don’t ever want to ruin. Do you understand?”

You nod helplessly. He knows that anytime his hands are anywhere on you, that his word is law. Being embarrassed about how delusional you are when it comes to his confusing analogies wasn’t going to make you come to your senses. You can’t help how much you love him. He makes you feel; something you never thought you’d do again. And you like it—no, you absolutely love it. It’s better than being numb and emotionless.

“I love you.” He repeats, moving his lips to your neck now. “And I want you in my life forever. I’m yours. We don’t need a label for that. Let’s just be.”

“Let’s just be.” You repeat, giving him more access and moving his hands to your chest, letting him to love you anyway he wants.

Minhyuk is on top of you now, and as he attempts to continue with your night, his phone begins to vibrate in his pocket.

“Just ignore it.” He breathes out, taking his phone of out of his pocket and throwing it behind the couch.

It’s his world, so you do as he says.

1:00AM

[lawlietscaramels]

okay okay okay I know you said no stories (understandable the holidays wiped me out too agshwsj) but I just got this random idea in my head and I could wait...!

So you know how voice filters are so normal now? even copying VA's to a seriously convincing level. What if people started using L's usual voice filter? Like nothing malicious, just people posting the craziest shit using THE detective L voice.

voice clips, shit posts, thirst traps, tiktok sounds of his public challenge on kira, people hating and simping on main and L can only helplessly watch. His pride won't allow him to change the filter he uses he made that himself it's his damnit! it'd be useless anyways, they'd just copy that too .

What can he do? are there legal repercussions? can he even copyright that? or is he doomed to be the biggest meme for the next 3 months like all public figures are subject to in life? Does L even notice?

So can I request an L-centric headcanon for this? You don't have to do it right away! Write whenever you feel like it! I just thought it'd be funny. Have a happy holiday!✨

–🍰 anon

That's My Voice! ╾ L

PFFTJSBAHHAHA CAN YOU IMAGINE?! this is the best way to start of 2024 pfft

also I have rested and relaxationed™ so I am doing a hc/story snippet mix!

okay okay yes. let's go.

　★━━─・‥…━━━☆

It's hard to say how quickly L would notice if this happened. Perhaps on the first day; perhaps he'd remain oblivious until it all blew over. the former is more likely than the latter.

but oh gosh once he notices...

Putting the key in the lock and turning it, you expected to find L standing right in the doorframe to greet you, the affectionate weirdo that he is. But he's staring in horror at one of the monitors lighting the room, mouth wide open and a lollipop forgotten in his mouth.

"y/n, they've stolen my voice!"

he probably hasn't encountered this kind of technology outside of like, criminals faking voices to commit crime or whatever so he's completely confused as to how and why ordinary citizens are using the voice filter he spent months of his childhood tinkering with.

they should make their own! can't he use copyright or something?!

"Oh, don't worry so much, L. It's just a trend, it will blow over quickly! There is no harm in them having fun."

He throws his arms in the air and for a moment you're concerned he's going to tip his seat over again. "What do you mean there's no harm?! They are 'simping,'" with the most dramatic air quotes you have ever seenー L must have learnt the term and immediately decided it did not deserve to be a wordー "for a cartoon man named Miguel from Arachnid-Man! In my voice, y/n!"

And you burst out laughing, which doesn't seem to help at all.

L goes silent and furious for a good hour as he desperately searches for a way to stop this from happening. I don't know the copyright laws myself, but I imagine as it isn't L's real voice and he likely wouldn't have seen the need to apply for a patent (or whatever equivalent there is to protect a voice filter), he wouldn't be able to do anything about it.

he would still seriously consider taking these good-for-nothings to court though...

You watch with both a- and bemusement as L taps his bottom lip over and over, fast.

"L," you say, "what are you thinking?"

It's not a good sign when that British accent begins to fall over his words. "I am weighing up how likely it is I would win a court case to sue for millions, strip these imbeciles of the right to technology, and publicly humiliate them. Do you think we could bring back tar-and-feathering...?"

DO NO T LET HIM. hahags it will take a solid hour or more of convincing but L will eventually give up, pouting and dedicatedly following the hashtag #iamLtoo

he might actually learn a lot about popular culture

he might also fall out of his chair in shock and cry

so, you win some, you lose some. maybe it's best to just take away his browsing privileges and remind him of whatever case he's working on. DISTRACT DISTRACT!

you're right, his pride would definitely stop him from trying to stop these "trollers" (he called them trolleys at least three times) via changing his voice filter. He made it himself, he won't give it up because of some teen living in their parents' garage!!! Though he might try to rig a program to detect people using it and delete their accounts or whatever

not sure how to segue into this one but here's another story bit

After finally calming L down and reminding him the tar-and-feather punishment was abolished for a reason, you manage to get into bed for some rest. To your surprise, L joins you, staring expressionlessly at the ceiling. This is what he always does when thinking, so you assume his mind is on the case and he's forgotten about the whole voice fiasco until he starts... cackling.

"L..."

Yep, there's a good chance he'll swing from "this is the most horrible thing that's ever happened to me ever!!??'!;;'!;';!!;"! :(" to quoting the memes.

he might actually really enjoy some of them.

though it's hard to tell if he genuinely thinks some of what these "trolleys" are doing is creative and amusing or if it's just a coping strategy for the next few months.

well, that is until he makes a subtle reference to the most viral of the videos in his next address to the public...

after that I'm afraid the craze sets off once again

L will sit back and watch with a smile

though if one of the uses of his voice filter insults him the whole thing is shut down faster than you can say tar-and-feathers

"You're a strange man, you know that?"

"So is this 'Miguel' character."

　★━━─・‥…━━━☆

𝖎𝖋 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖑𝖎𝖐𝖊𝖉 𝖎𝖙 ˏˋ⋆˖⁺˖⁀➷ 𝖕𝖑𝖊𝖆𝖘𝖊 𝖗𝖊𝖇𝖑𝖔𝖌 + 𝖋𝖔𝖑𝖑𝖔𝖜

©lawlietscaramels. Do not repost on other sites, claim as your own work, edit, rewrite or “fix,” feed to AI or otherwise use unethically.

[alj4890]

I got this from this incorrect quote generator. I need you to do something with this! lol

😂 I'm still dying with all those you shared. I'm adding that other you sent me with this one

I'm setting this at the time these two were keeping their relationship a secret from everyone except his two closest friends. And I have no idea how this ended up the way it did. Nothing at all like I had planned 😂

Masterlist

Admittance

(Tobias Carrick x F!MC) in a Choices Open Heart One Shot

It felt like a never ending work week. Chris couldn't remember the last time she slept for longer than a couple of hours at a stretch. With the mad rush of flu patients coming in and out of the E.R., she'd begun to daydream of spending her entire time off in her bedroom, curtains closed, and having the best sleep of her life.

She collapsed upon her soft bed after a particularly grueling shift, only moving when she heard the ringtone she'd chosen for her favorite doctor.

"Lo?" She managed to get out.

"I don't even rate a full hello?" Tobias teased.

"You're lucky to get that." She mumbled. "I think I barely acknowledged Jackie when I walked past her earlier."

She didn't have the energy to muffle her yawn.

"I don't think I've ever been this tired."

"I take it our date tonight is off?" He asked, already disappointed at the fact he wouldn't get to see her.

Chris sat up with a groan. "It can't already be Thursday!"

"It is.

"Damnit." She slumped back against her headboard. "I was looking forward to tonight."

"I was too." Tobias sighed. "Want me to sneak over and at least bring you dinner?"

Chris perked up at that offer. "You don't have to sneak. Aurora is already in bed and the others are working the night shift."

"Then I'll see you soon." He promised.

Chris looked down at her tank top and pajama bottoms. The thought of taking them off seemed too horrible to contemplate.

"Do you mind if I don't dress up? I just got out of the shower and put on some pajamas. I think it might kill me to change clothes."

"You know I don't care." He reminded her.

Her smile grew bigger when she heard the flirty lilt to his deep voice.

"You know, I don't think I've ever seen you in pajamas before. I think it's about time I got a peek at your bedroom too."

"I suppose it is only fair." Chris teased. "After all, you are a very gracious host whenever I want to see your bedroom."

"I aim to please." He responded. "And you know if you feel the need to relax without those pj's, I certainly won't complain."

She burst out laughing. "Nice try, Dr. Carrick. Right now, you'll be lucky if I have enough energy to answer the door when you knock."

"Take a nap." Tobias ordered. "I'll call when I'm at the door."

***************

A little over an hour later, Chris roused herself from her bed and padded down the hallway.

"Hey." Tobias whispered, once she opened the door.

She smiled sleepily into his kiss and leaned a little more against him when he wrapped his arms around her.

"You know, you could have told me to wait until tomorrow to see you." He reminded her.

"But I didn't want to wait." She snuggled within his arms. "This is what kept me going this week."

Her eyes flew open when he picked her up bridal style.

"Tobias!" She hissed. "Put me down!"

"Shut the door." He whispered, cuddling her close.

Dropping her head back with a groan, she quietly shut the door.

"Now?" He pressed his lips to her neck. "Where's your room?"

"Last door on the left." She bit back a moan when he kissed a path up to her ear.

She looped her arms around his neck as he carried her down the hall.

Once inside, he set her down on her bed, pressed another deep kiss to her lips, then shut her bedroom door.

"Now." He held up a bag of Chinese takeout. "Let's eat."

Chris smoothed her blankets and retrieved a towel to set the food on.

"Not bad." Tobias looked around her room. "Now I know the setting to put you in when I fantasize about you."

"You still fantasize about me?" She couldn't stop smiling over that tidbit.

He took his shoes and jacket off before sliding under the covers with her.

His eyes raked over her, taking in how her tank top hugged her curves.

"You bet I do."

"Hi." He winked at her.

"Hi." She kissed him.

Tobias wrapped one of her curls around his fingers, pulling her closer for a longer kiss.

"We don't have to eat, if you'd rather properly christen my first time here in your bedroom."

Chris playfully pushed him then reached for one of the takeout containers.

"If I'm going to do anything remotely sexy, I need food."

"Heaven help me if you get any sexier."

"Oof. You're not giving me much of a chance to resist you."

"I never do." He reached for one of the boxes of Kung Pao chicken. "I hate to admit it, but I've always been irresistible."

Chris hummed her agreement as she ate.

"When I was young," he continued, "I left a trail of broken hearts like a rockstar. I'm not proud of it."

Rolling her eyes, she reached for her drink.

"Chris?" Tobias eyed her. "Are you jealous?"

"You're kinda proud of it." She took a sip. "You work it into a lot of conversations."

Her tone caught him off guard.

"No." She grumbled. "What do I have to be jealous about?"

"Nothing." He scooted closer to her. "You know you don't have anything to be jealous of when it comes to my past."

"It isn't jealousy!" She snapped. "I could care less about all your women."

"Former women." He emphasized.

She rolled her eyes again with a huff.

"Honestly it isn't them or the number of," she made quotation marks with her fingers, "former women."

"Then why do you sound upset?" He persisted.

"For one thing, I'm exhausted." She folded her arms across her chest.

Tobias got up, and began to pace the small confines of her room. He knew by her waspish tone and that arm folding maneuver that she was precariously close to losing that temper of hers.

"Look," he began in an attempt to avoid a fight, "I would have understood if you wanted to cancel our date so that you could sleep. I think I'm pretty good at that boyfriend type behavior."

"Awwwww." Chris sarcastically responded. "Aren't you so bloody precious?"

Tobias glared at her.

"What's this really about?" He demanded.

"The fact that you always say, trail of broken hearts!" She griped. "As if, not only are you proud of it, but also that..."

She trailed off when tears began to fill her eyes at the thought of what he might really mean.

"But also what?" He prodded in a gentler tone when he noticed she was about to cry.

"But also like it's a warning," she bit down on her bottom lip, "to me."

She looked away when he sat down beside her once more.

"It's not a warning." He tried to pull her into his arms. "Especially not to you."

Chris refused to budge.

"Right." She bit out. "Because I'm so special."

"You are." He insisted. "To me you are."

He gave up when she turned away from him. He flopped back on her pillows and tried to think of a way to salvage their evening. Rubbing his hands over his face he released an aggravated groan.

"Did I or did I not admit to being in love with you?" He bit out.

"You did."

"Then there you go!" He threw his hands up as if that solved everything.

"What are you talking about?" Chris turned towards him.

"You are the only woman I've admitted that to. The only one I felt like saying that to. The only one I've ever fallen in love with." He explained. "So me joking about all my one night stands doesn't matter."

He rolled on his side to face her.

"Because you, Christy Valentine, won't be broken hearted. I'm the one who would be devastated if I manage to screw us up."

"There you go again!" She growled.

Before he had a chance to respond, her lips crashed down on his.

He moaned as she pushed him on his back and straddled him without breaking the kiss.

"Shame on you." She slowly shook her head. "Won't even let me eat before seducing me."

He didn't bother to hide his smug smile.

"I'm sorry." His hands drifted over her body. "Any chance I can make it up to you?"

"I don't know." She reached over and set the food containers on one of her nightstands then slid back down on top of him. "I suppose you could try."

His lips curved even more as he slipped her shirt off.

"I'll give it my all." He promised.

*****************

The next afternoon...

"About time you two showed up." Dean greeted. "I was about to call and see what the holdup was."

"And I was about to ignore all good manners and eat without you." Will hugged Chris.

"Sorry we're late. I was doing things." Tobias responded.

"Hi. I'm things." Chris hugged Dean next.

Dean and Will snickered as Tobias covered his face. He couldn't hold back his own laughter over Chris's boldness.

"Good to know you two weren't doing something boring and holding up lunch." Will teased.

"I can forgive and commend doing those types of things." Dean winked at Chris. "A simple text of I can't get out of bed, go on without me would have sufficed."

"Not that we're opposed to details." Will added.

"I'll try and remember that." Tobias reached for his glass of water.

His hand settled over the one Chris had set on his leg.

She smiled at him, squeezing his thigh gently.

Unable to resist how adorably unrepentant she looked for outing their activities to his friends, he leaned over and kissed her.

"I said, details." Will teased. "Not demonstrations."

Dean threw his napkin at them when the kiss continued.

"Enough!" He couldn't stop chuckling at the two entwined. "Remember there's those of us who are still painfully single sitting here."

The couple broke apart and shared a tender smile.

"I'm starving." Chris admitted while picking up her menu.

Will and Dean noticed Tobias looking awfully proud at that statement as he settled his arm along the back of her chair to pull her closer to his side.

Deciding to let that one go by without comment, the friends discussed what appetizers to share with the couple.

[hopeswriting]

Hi I saw your post on Skull and tv series about famous people and I raise you: The public have that sort of relationship to Skull's career as with many of the "acclaimed geniuses" usually the artsy ones aka. everyone knows him but nobody thinks they "understand his true depth", "he was very bright and loud but in private really he was actually sooo mysterious and it was impossible to tell what actually went on in his head when he spoke so much but rarely anything of substance about himself", "he was everyone's friend, but I always wondered if he returned the feeling, he always acted that way around everyone after all" etc. Someone is quoted talking about how he'd always laugh things off to hide what he really meant. It goes on.

BUT here is the KICKER: Skull isn't. He has his own depth of course, but all of this post-mortem rose tinted "mystery" is that he was young and fearless and cheerful and genuinely a bit dumb and hypocritical and very bad at elaborating on the things he said. And best part: now he will never live it down around the arcobaleno and this time it's not even him who was talking himself up in ridiculous ways. (Actually it'd be kinda funny too if it made some canon character actually believe it and look at him differently)

hi nonny, thank you for the ask! [post referenced]

nooo not the unseen depth zerfghfgc!!!! not the MYSTERIOUSNESS!!!! 😭🤣😭🤣😭🤣 and yeah you bet he ISNT nor was he EVER any of that lmfao, nonny i'm losing it over this.

but okay, now let ME raise you this: 1) i know it in my bones tsuna is the one to buy into all of that bullshit, no questions asked. yes, hyper intuition tsuna, the last one who should buy into it and know better, i know, but no, listen. i KNOW he watches that documentary or whatever and goes "omg, i can't believe i misunderstood skull this whole time. i need to apologize to him right now and do better, and also i should stand up for him from now on and help the others realize they've got it all wrong about him too".

and then no one can stop him or make him change his mind. least of all reborn, who's the one trying the hardest to stop him and change his mind. for a yet undetermined reason, but i just know he canNOT stand that new development, it just makes him soo mad.

wait, no, i just figured out why he'd hate everything about this. it's because he knows skull, thank you very much. he's among the few who got through the obnoxious ordeal of bearing his bullshit long enough to know him, and to even become begrudgingly glad he did and fond of him but we're not going to talk about that, but now? he's just supposed to stand there and be told he's only ever seen the surface of skull? that he--he, of all people--couldn't tell he was just seeing the surface of him? over decades of knowing each other? he's just supposed to let people not recognize and acknowledge the arduous and praiseworthy achievement that is him having gotten past skull's terrible first impressions until they became close for what it is?

he's just about foaming at the mouth, and tsuna does not give a single shit about it because, as everyone knows, reborn is skull's number one hater. and then tsuna's undeterred work to, like, rehabilitate skull's image or something, actually WORKS because if hyper intuition tsuna says so then??? surely there's some truth to it at the very least???? and it works even more because skull does NOTHING to clear up the misunderstanding.

which brings us to point 2) shameless little gremlin that he is to his core, skull absolutely finds this the funniest thing and takes FULL advantage of it. like suddenly tsuna & co (the 10th gen/varia/shimon/etc) start to actually pay attention to him whenever he's around, trying to see """through him""", and skull makes sure to always be all like "oooh look at me not talking much à la hibari, i'm sooo mysterious and definitely thinking some deep thoughts and not trying really hard to not burst out laughing". or like, the arco are their usual rough but playful selves with him, and instead of snapping at them with no heat behind it either in a well-rehearsed routine the way he'd usually do, instead he's all like "oooh look at me and my fake laugh à la yamamoto. am i really laughing this off because i don't mind or am i just doing it to hide how it actually hurt me? there's sooo much unseen depth inside me".

and they buy it. go all like "oh shit??? maybe--????". and the arco are losing their shit because 3) okay look. consider this: the arco are the ones miserable over this, and skull is the one not letting them live down the new-found appreciation everyone else but them suddenly has of him. because like, the arco's reaction to this can only go one of two ways: either they find it just as funny as skull and help him pull off the whole "yeah this is actually the real me, you just didn't care to notice it before" act, OR. they just absolutely canNOT stand it. they're so mad about it. they're sooo mad about it. they did NOT unexpectedly survive through a curse alongside skull, only to hear they somehow missed everything about him that would have made him more bearable lmao. especially from people among whom most of them have never spent more than an hour with him. have never even TALKED to him even once. their blood pressure is through the roof while skull is living his best life and does not give a single shit about it. also becomes best friends with tsuna in the process of this whole thing because i say so.

anyway. i couldn't stop laughing while answering this nonny, i love it so much. and idk if you remember this @cloudspark @ravensilversea @juudaimes-true-form, but here's the hilarious sequel of the netflix's skull series au ezrsfgvhfd

[tan1shere]

SFW & NSFW HCS

Danni ! x female reader !

Modern au ?

Masterlist

SFW

☆ I just know she's caring and protective. Whenever you two are at a bar, or even a supermarket, if someone looks at you funny, or even checks you out, she will get protective but it's never visible. She will ofcourse keep you close, having an arm loosely around your waist.

☆ whenever you're with her at either of your guys apartments, just soaking up the silence of one another. You on her lap, just playing with the strings on her sweats. Looking at every small freckle on her face just admiring her, her blue eyes that have a slight green tinge to them.

☆ she's definitely masc. And her style is your favorite, she may dress quite simple and plain but you think it suits her nonetheless.

☆ one of your fav things about her is her hands, you love them and she knows that. When she plays video games she always makes sure you're watching, and you definitely are. The way her fingers move on the joystick, whether it's slow or fast you're definitely keeping a close eye.

☆ she strikes me as an acts of service kinda person, I feel like sometimes she'd struggle to tell you how she felt. It wasn't impossible for her, and whenever she would say some words of affection you'd cherish it more. Knowing that it was hard for her and for her to manage it, shows she truly means whatever it is she says.

☆ still on that note- she'd be big on getting you small or big gifts whatever it is she loves spoiling you. Sometimes she will even get creative with it and make it herself as she knows you like that (she secretly really enjoys a little craft project) maybe she will see something that remind you of her, it could be so stupid and silly but she knows you'll see the beauty in it.

☆ is genuinely upset she can't get you pregnant, and yes she will think about it often, she'd kill to see a mini you around your future house. She wants to be a mother with you, it's something she really wants. You want it too just as much. And you remind her there's other ways and it's not an impossible thing but you know it does genuinely get to her. "I know, just such a long process is all." You could see where she was coming from whenever she'd say that. "It'd be worth it though Danni. Promise."

☆ whenever Danni would get wound up over something she knew there was no reason to once you were there to calm her down. It always worked, you were her rock grounding her and letting her know everything is fine. She appreciated you for this and how you could calm her so easily.

NSFW

☆ this woman's so dominant but I feel like she'd be a taunting dom/soft dom. Such a tease. And almost always has to have her hands on you, thigh is her go to, just a simple touch or even a squeeze.

☆ I feel like this woman's definitely an ass type. For example maybe you're just minding your own business, doing whatever, and she comes along and gives it a smack, watching it jiggle. She for sure loves your reactions too, always has a cocky grin on her face. "Dan, come on." You would roll your eyes lightly with a small laugh. "What can't resist when that ass always looks so juicy." She'd smirk more after her comment.

☆ still on the topic of ass I just know she'd enjoy when you'd ride her, just so she can grab at that flesh as you move on her strap. Giving a slight smack here and there. But if she's in the mood to get a proper view she will get you to do reverse cowgirl without a doubt. She'd love the view of your ass, especially if you aren't sitting up full and kind of bent over, holding onto the bed for support.

☆ another specific detail Danni is a sucker for. Your moans. They get her so incredibly weak, probably the only thing that can, and when you find that out you use that to your advantage. She loves hearing them as she fucks you, and if you try to stop them from coming out, she stops. It's like she has to hear them, feed on that pretty noise that leaves your lips.

☆ she loves using the breeding strap on you, she quotes that the normal one is boring, it makes you giggle at her as they are just the same. But it is definitely her go to.

[waterfire1848]

Part 2 of Wolf Children!AU with Ursa, Azula and Zuko incorrect quotes @stardust948

Ursa: My dad wanted me to smile all the time so that, whenever things were tough, I could give life my best smile and get through it. Crazy as it may sound, it always seemed to work. When my dad died, I smiled from ear to ear all throughout his funeral. One of my relatives scolded me right there in front of everybody, said I was disrespecting his memory. I don't know. Maybe it was disrespectful.

Ozai: No, I think you were perfect.

Ursa, laughing: Good to know.

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

Azula: Food now!

Ursa: It's almost done, Azula. Just be patient.

Azula: Food now!

Ursa: Look, I'm sorry but it's-

[ Azula turns into a dragon. ]

Azula: Food now!

Ursa: Azula.

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

Zuko: Mom? How come the dragon always has to be the bad guy, huh?

Ursa: You mean, like in the picture books.

Zuko: Everybody's mean to them and they always get killed in the end. It's cause of that. I don't wanna be a dragon.

Ursa: You're right. But you know, I think dragon's are pretty nice people. Even if everybody else is mean to them. I'm gonna stick up for the dragons no matter what.

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

Sokka: I don't want Azula to stop coming to school.

Ursa: The day you got hurt, I remember, you said in the headmaster's office that a dragon did it. Is that what happened?

Sokka: Uh-huh...I think. I know it sounds crazy, but I saw it just for like a split-second and when I woke up, my head was all bloody. The dragon was the one who hurt me-it wasn't Azula. It's not fair she got in trouble because of it.

Ursa: I see. And may I ask you one more thing? Do you hate dragons now?

Sokka: No, I think they're pretty cool.

Ursa: I feel the same way.

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

Zuko: I'm heading out.

Ursa: Where are you going?

Zuko: To visit Ran and Shaw.

Ursa: Ran and Shaw?

Zuko: They teach me about life.

Ursa: Okay, but be careful and don't stay out too late.

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

Zuko: You should have Ran and Shaw teach you stuff, too, Azula. Your hunting will get way better. Mine did. I can fly through the air way faster because of them. Also I can read the sky better. You'd learn a whole lot. What the clouds mean, how to find water, and, also, how to get along with the other animals that you meet.

Azula: I don't wanna know that stuff.

Zuko: Why not?

Azula: Try going to school for once if you're so eager to learn.

Zuko: I like the mountain. It's fun. I learn real stuff up there.

Azula: I like school okay?

Zuko: Why's that?

Azula: Look, just come to school, Zuko.

Zuko: No, thanks.

Azula: Why not?

Zuko: Because I'm a dragon.

Azula: You are a human.

Zuko: No, I'm not.

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

Ursa: Zuko! You had me worried sick, you know that? You're soaking wet. Hold on. I'll draw you a hot bath-

Zuko: It's Ran and Shaw. They can't move because they hurt their wings. I think they're gonna die. They're the guardians of the Fire Nation and everything in it. Someone's gotta take their place.

Ursa: No way. I don't want you going up there. I mean it! You're barley sixteen years old, Zuko, you're not even an adult yet. A sixteen year old dragon is an adult but that's different you're not a-

Ursa: Please, don't go back to the mountains again. Please, Zuko, for me.

[lil-cutesy-things]

Understanding BPD, part 2 (Kisses from July 2024 #4)

Or How I Successfully Recovered from BPD

Hi pumpkins 🧡 Welcome back to "Kisses from July 2024"!

TODAY'S TOPIC

In the fourth part of this series, I will talk about my personal recovery from BPD.

THE ORIGINS

As you may already know, I was bullied by some of my classmates when I was a child.

Because I suffered from urinary incontinence, they said I was disgusting, that I had no hygiene, etc. They would move away and call me names whenever they saw me. They would verbally abuse me whenever they saw me.

Because I was autistic (non-diagnosed at that time), they said I was weird. They would laugh and imitate my posture (I was very much curled up in myself), my way of walking (I was always tip-toeing around), etc.

Nobody cared enough to defend me. My friends thought the verbal abuse was no big deal. They would hear my bullies call me names and yet do nothing about it.

On the few times I tried to talk about it with the adults I knew, they put the blame on me. Depending on who I was talking to, I was too shy to fit properly, too haughty, not forgiving enough...

As for myself, I was terrified of what could happen if I dared fight back. Would my bullies hurt me? Would the verbal abuse turn into physical or sexual abuse?

Because I was constantly worried about my security and well-being, running through the worst-case scenarios, I developed stress and anxiety issues.

Because I firmly believed that everyone would eventually leave me behind, I developed a strong fear of abandonment, which is one of the main symptoms of BPD.

FROM CHILDHOOD TO ADOLESCENCE

When I left middle school, the bullying stopped since me and my bullies were going to different schools.

I did my best to be the good girl people wanted me to be. I suppressed my feelings of despair and anger; I put on a smiling mask and hid the me who was deeply hurt and insecure.

This game of hide-and-seek lasted for several years before my mask started to crack and chip. It eventually shattered, exposing my vulnerable true self.

To quote my post on anger management and acceptance, "I hated myself, but I was the only person I could trust to take me forward. Even if I was blaming myself for the traumatic events that were happening to me, even if I felt completely powerless, I could not afford to rely on anyone else."

Driven by a fierce desire to live, I swore to myself I would ensure my own safety and keep myself healthy.

NO HOPE WHATSOEVER?

When I was diagnosed with BPD in early 2023, I was not that surprised. I have been suspecting I had it for a few years.

Despite that, I could never bring myself to hope recovering from this disorder. While doing some research, I read that BPD has a high rate of suicide.

Because I still believed that I would eventually succeed in taking my own life, I did not hope for a complete recovery. I did not think this was even a possibility.

WHAT ABOUT NOW?

In early 2024, I asked my psychiatrist if I still have BPD. He said no, I do not suffer from BPD anymore since my symptoms have changed over the years.

CONCLUSION

Just as there is not a single universal cause of BPD, there is not a single universal way to recover from this disorder.

Nevertheless, I will leave some basic advice below.

★ Choosing yourself over and over again helps a lot with the fear of abandonment. You will feel less and less scared of being left behind if you know for sure that you can rely on yourself.

★ Finding some healthy ways to express your feelings helps a lot with self-harm. Try to find creative outlets to get your anger out. If you can't think of any options, I would suggest taking a look at the first part of this series, "It's okay to feel something", which offers advice on expressing your feelings instead of suppressing them.

★ Anticipate your mood swings. Identify your triggers – how does this or that make you feel? What coping mechanisms do you end up using?

★ Prepare an emergency plan. Therefore, when you find yourself in a stressful or dangerous situation, you will be ready for any eventuality. I would advise you to have a list of emergency contact numbers.

★ Get yourself a first aid kit to carry everywhere. A fillable drinking bottle, snacks, pain relievers, medicines, sanitary pads, tampons, condoms, contraceptives, you name it. If it helps you, then take it with you.

BLOGS TO FOLLOW ON TUMBLR

• @borderlinereminders ➙ Kind reminders and positivity for people with BPD.

• @traumasurvivors ➙ Support and validation for trauma survivors.

Love,

Bay 💋

[sapphire-weapon]

Im starting to get amused at how many Ada asks you are getting. I think people don't know what to do with her anymore or know where to place her for that matter. Ada as a stand alone character, (that one Lady Gaga quote) "talented, brilliant, incredible, amazing, show stopping, spectacular, never the same, totally unique", etc... With Leon, I feel as though i would look her dead in the eye and tell her not to settle, and that she could do so much better.

She's so under utilized that i feel as though shippers cling to Aeon, because what else is there for her? i hope the new remakes give her some space outside of leons own story.

I am actually baffled by the amount of Ada asks that I get, because I have never really been an Ada person, so to speak.

Historically, it's always been easier for me to say "I don't fucking like Ada" but like. It's always been for reasons that aren't really her fault. I don't fucking like how Capcom uses Ada, I don't like the way she gets pigeonholed in the narrative, I don't like how her only two purposes are "melodrama for Leon" or "get out of jail free card for whenever Capcom can't find a better way to explain how a villain did a thing."

It's nothing to do with Ada's personality. I actually enjoy her as a person, for the most part. Like, she fuckin makes me laugh sometimes. I find the concept of her intriguing, but. At the same time, there's nothing there past her relationship with Leon, because Capcom won't write her in a context removed from him. So why fucking bother giving her the benefit of the doubt?

So like. This is literally the most I have ever talked about her character... ever.

But even then, I do agree with you. I do think that if Ada and Leon were to end up together, Ada would be settling. I don't think he could give her what she needs. Ada was attracted to him initially because he gave her the appearance of someone who's stable and reliable in the middle of the chaos that is her normal life -- but he's not, really. He was already thinking about suicide during the events of RE2. OG Leon is a tortured man with a mood disorder and, eventually, a drinking problem. And Ada's just... not the personality type to help him through his issues. That's why this never actually comes up between them in a meaningful way.

And that's why I get so fucking annoyed at how she's used in this series. That's why I've never wanted to talk about her in the past. Because the whole narrative surrounding her is bullshit, and the writers at Capcom clearly don't respect her autonomy as a character, so why the fuck should I?

Now, Remake does seem to be changing that. And that's great. So I'm trying to be optimistic.

But sometimes I wonder if the anons sending in these asks are folks who have been trapped in the Aeon cult and want to get out while not giving up the affection they have for Ada as a character. I get the desire to want more for her. Hopefully Remake delivers. But until then, I guess I'll just do the best I can with what I've been given. And that's all anyone else can do, too.

[mlobsters]

supernatural s5e6 i believe the children are our future (w. andrew dabb, daniel loflin)

girl why are you watching cujo an arm length's away from a big old tv, back up!

while i pause to look up the imdb to see if i know any of these people, i kinda like this season's little title sequence with the whispering. little more ominous than the wings, which were okay. it's all so short so not like it makes much of a difference but. sets the mood a wee bit.

okay another logistics question i think about periodically, especially since sam burned all his fake ids and such when he bounced earlier this season, if they're giving different names all the time then like. is there a stockpile? do they reup with new names and who prints them? they have a seemingly endless supply of not only names but organizations.

getting all my feelings off my chest in this one, i also think they use too many references in this show! there's so many. "that'll do, pig" really? babe? anyway i just think a lot of time they stick out like a sore thumb.

Because don't be so pleased with your own, like, self-referential cleverness? - jessica stanley, twilight new moon

that's right i'm quoting twilight to make a point. anyway that's what i think of whenever there's too many obscure references that sound completely unnatural in the moment.

and again with the episodes being songs but not having the songs 😂 i guess that's just what they're doing now. but now i've got the greatest love of all stuck in my head.

this guy gets around on scifi shows! he was in two episodes of xfiles, an episode of millenium, eureka, the 4400, fringe, the second xfiles movie, v, izombie (i've seen a lot of the small roles people have parts in izombie while doing my imdb stroll but i've never watched it), aah and he was in an episode of riverdale this year! and a whole bunch of other stuff. little parts, but i think it's fun that he's done so much scifi in particular.

the x-files s5e11 kill switch (that's the one with killer ai hehe written by william gibson and tom maddox) patrick keating as donald gelman

the magicians s4e1 a flock of lost birds - patrick keating as shop owner (he was in it for about 5 seconds but hey he was a hedge witch!)

DEAN Yeah, with the sense of humor of a nine-year-old.

SAM Or you.

now that made me laugh, because it's true :p

SAM So we tell him the truth. You say Jesse's destined to go dark side—fine. But he hasn't yet. So if we lay it all out for him—what he is, the apocalypse, everything—he might make the right choice.

CASTIEL You didn't. And I can't take that chance.

wow, cas is more pissed at sam than i would have anticipated. so he's mad because he told sam to stop with the demon blood and ruby etc and he didn't and things went pear-shaped. but i mean, zachariah's role in it all? would it have mattered even if sam did things differently?

huh. kid asks if cas is dean's friend, dean says no, cut to sam for a reaction shot. whatcha doing, show. and always nice to see dean with kids working his magic.

and the kiddo has been in 3 episodes of the boys, that's cool. fun to see someone go back and work with a creator on a different series :) (i've only seen a couple episodes, would like to go back to it at some point)

i don't see how this plot is going to resolve in any meaningful way unless the kid somehow vanishes or gets smited. smote? wishes his powers away?

vanishes it is.

DEAN Yeah. You know, I'm starting to get why parents lie to their kids. You want them to believe that the worst thing out there is mixing Pop Rocks and Coke—protect them from the real evil. You want them going to bed feeling safe. If that means lying to them, so be it. The more I think about it...the more I wish Dad had lied to us.

SAM Yeah, me too.

3 votes for wishing john winchester was a better parent.