#but those were books i've read recently and thought about

[seven-saffodils]

.

[repurposedmeatlocker]

In my elementary school classroom there was always a bunch of labeled containers full of paperback books to read during independent reading. Despite liking reading, I was very...picky to say the least when it came to what I wanted to read, as well as a little impatient and easily distracted so I wasn’t the best reader growing up.

It got me thinking, what were some books you remember seeing and WANTING to read growing up, but you never really had the chance to do so?

[punkshort]

Thank you Anon for this request!

A Deeper Purpose

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader one-shot

Summary: Living in Jackson during the apocalypse doesn't do anything to curb your desire to have a child. The problem is, most of the men in town are unavailable... except for one.

Warnings: smut (18+ MDNI), unprotected piv sex, breeding kink (given the request, obv), language, friends to lovers, mentions of anxiety, infertility, pregnancy, angst, pining, alcohol

WC: 3.4K

dividers by @saradika-graphics

When you first asked him, he thought you were crazy.

He stared at you in complete disbelief, his gaze flickering down to the drink in your hand, trying to recall how many you had to propose something so insane. But it was only one.

"Are you fuckin' serious?"

"Mhmm," you said confidently. "I've thought about it for a long time. I want a baby and the men in this town are either taken or have the mental fortitude of a child," you joked nervously. "You're neither of those things. Besides... I trust you."

His eyes softened for a moment and he dropped his gaze to the table. You had known Joel for the better part of five years, and while at first he was brash and gruff, throughout countless patrols and fights against infected where you had to have each other's backs, you had grown rather close. Neither of you ever crossed the line past friendship, and you had never even thought about it until recently when your anxiety was keeping you up late at night, wondering if you would ever find a man and settle down to start a family.

It was a luxury in this life, to be sure. The population of Jackson wasn't very large, but in five years you had come to get a good read on most of its citizens. And you kept coming back to the same conclusion: the man for you was not there.

So after much thought and self-reflection, you worked up enough courage to get a drink with Joel after your route and ask him if he would be willing to give you a baby.

You followed up by telling him you would be solely responsible, that you would do all the work and he could be as involved in the child's life as much as he wanted to be, if at all, while he sat there dumbstruck.

Now he cleared his throat and scratched the back of his neck nervously as he weighed your proposal.

"Can I think 'bout it?" he finally asked.

"Oh, god, of course!" you exclaimed, eyes widening in surprise that he was considering it at all. "However much time you need."

But that was almost a month ago. Each day that passed you became more anxious, more impatient, and it was beginning to sour your mood.

On that particular day you were checking out the park rangers outpost hidden deep within the Wyoming forest. The building was up within the trees, providing the park rangers in the past a bird's eye view of the forest, and now it gives Jackson the same.

Joel was scribbling something in the log book while you strolled aimlessly around the cabin, opening and shutting drawers loudly, already knowing what was in them but just looking for something to do.

"Somethin' on your mind?" he mumbled over his shoulder, his focus still on the book.

"No," you said defensively, but when you angrily began to struggle with a window that refused to open, it became clear you were lying.

"Here, lemme help," he offered, dropping the pencil and walking to your side of the room.

"I'm fine, I don't need your help," you snapped, though you obviously did.

His hands gripped your shoulders and forcibly moved you out of the way before he took hold of the window and gave it a quick jerk, loosening the window in it's frame and finally allowing fresh air in.

He smirked at you and you rolled your eyes before breezing past him.

"This attitude 'bout the window or 'bout what you asked me?" he challenged, stopping you dead in your tracks. Slowly, you spun around, unsure what to say.

"The window," you finally answered, then shifted your weight and shrugged. "Okay, maybe a little of both."

"Mhmm," he said, advancing toward you. "Thought so."

"Well... have you thought about it or are you just trying to come up with a nice way to say no?"

He frowned and propped his hands on his hips. "Now why d'you think it's a no?"

"Because you haven't said a single word about it in a month," you told him like the answer was obvious.

"Well maybe the answer's yes but I don't know how to casually bring up into polite conversation that I'm ready to knock up my goddamn friend!" he argued.

You stared at him, jaw hanging open in disbelief.

"Wait, really?" you whispered.

He nodded and scrubbed his palms over his face. "Yeah, I mean... if you still wanna or... whatever," he grumbled.

The first time was bad, to put it mildly. Your kisses were all teeth, chins and noses bumped together awkwardly. You had hoped once you got down to it that it would have gotten better, but you were wrong. Your rhythms were all off, you hit your head on the end table, and Joel nearly fell off the couch at one point. Needless to say, you didn't come. It was a miracle he did by the end of it.

Afterwards, you both sat there, catching your breaths and wondering if you made a huge mistake.

No, it wasn't a mistake. It was always a means to an end. Ultimately, it didn't really matter if the sex was good or not, the end result would be the same.

Still...

"I'm not usually that bad," you finally said, breaking the thick silence. He groaned and tipped his head back to rest on the couch.

"Me either. I swear, I ain't lyin'. I never usually..." he trailed off, rubbing his chin, deep in thought. "We'll try again. Back home. In a bed. That's the problem. It's gotta be, right?"

"Yeah," you nodded, not fully believing him but at that point, what could it hurt?

The next time was the following day at your home. It was a little better than the first time, but not by much.

"It doesn't matter, Joel," you assured him, tugging your blanket over your chest.

"Matters to me," he said defensively. "I'm too in my head or somethin'. It's still weird, don't you think?"

"Yeah, it's weird," you agreed.

"It's too planned out. Maybe it's gotta be more natural. More... spontaneous."

"Yeah," you agreed.

A couple evenings later one of the other men on patrol was having a bonfire at his home and invited a handful of others, you and Joel included.

Ten or so people sat around a roaring fire, tossing back whiskey and playing cards or swapping war stories. The alcohol made you feel warm and relaxed, your limbs as loose as your tongue when you joked around with the others, joining in on the teasing when a seasoned patrolman admitted to shooting off a crossbow at a leaf that fell just a little too loudly in the woods.

Then you felt a hand on the small of your back and you turned, your eyes glassy and face warm from the booze and the laughs. Joel stood beside you looking just as at ease as you and he gave you a knowing look.

For once, you were on the same page. Neither of you said a word.

You made your excuses, said your goodbyes, and slipped into the night. It was quiet, the rest of the town asleep, so it was easy to hear Joel's voice carry over the wind a few minutes later when he announced his departure, your heart skipping an excited beat in your chest.

He didn't hurry to catch up with you and you were glad. It helped. The anticipation built up on the walk home, and for the first time you felt a warmth bloom between your legs. Your fingers shakily worked your front door when you heard his steps growing closer, the crunching of gravel growing louder and louder until your door swung open and the squeak of old wood under his boots as he walked up your stairs echoed in your ears.

You didn't bother to turn the lights on. His hands were on your waist instantly, kicking the door closed behind him as his mouth crashed against yours with a groan. All you could hear was your shared breath and the rustling of fabric, each of you working to strip the other of their clothes as quickly as possible.

Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the spontaneity of it. Whatever it was, it was better. Oh, so much better.

Somehow you had made it to your bed and you had never been more grateful to have a small ranch home in your life. When he first pushed inside, you moaned and arched your back off the mattress and his teeth gently grazed your collarbone, sending a wave of goosebumps over your skin. Instantly, you found a rhythm. Your hips rolled to meet his at the perfect time, his hands squeezed and pinched your breasts while his tongue invaded your mouth, only sliding down to cup your ass when he sensed it was becoming too much.

"More," you moaned into his mouth, heels digging into the backs of his thighs. He alternated between snapping and grinding his hips, the mix of sensations quickly bringing you over the edge.

You could feel the excitement in his body when he finally made you come. Like he was reenergized and focused, like he had finally accomplished what he set out to do.

"Come for me, Joel," you whispered in his ear before nipping at his earlobe. You could tell he was close by the way his muscles tensed and the deep groans emanating from his chest.

"Yeah? Want me to come in this tight little pussy?" he growled, the dirty talk sending a jolt of surprise through you. Before, he had been so quiet. This was new.

"Yeah," you whispered back, "want you to fuck a baby in me. I want everyone to see what you did to me."

He groaned so loudly you wondered if it could be heard from outside. His teeth sunk down into your shoulder when he came, muffled words being spoken into your skin as he shot thick ropes of his seed deep into your womb, only slowing when his legs began to shake and he collapsed on top of you with a huff.

"Fuck," he gasped, still trying to catch his breath on top of you. "That was..." he trailed off with a chuckle and you felt him swallow tightly. "That was much better."

"Yeah," you whispered, your eyes sliding shut as your fingers gently raked through his hair. You didn't even realize you were doing it or how intimate it seemed considering your arrangement, but he didn't seem to mind. In fact, he leaned into it a bit as he waited for his heartrate to slow.

Once he collected himself, he propped himself up on his hands and slowly eased out of you with a hiss.

"Can you hand me-"

"Yeah," he said, already knowing you were asking for the small, firm pillow you used last time to prop your hips up, and gave it to you. With a groan, he got to his feet and went to your bathroom while you tucked your knees against your chest, hoping you were getting the angle right.

When he emerged from the bathroom, he handed you a wet washcloth to use when you were done, then began to dress.

He glanced at your face, then your hips propped up in the air.

"You need anythin' else?"

"No, I think this'll do," you joked, and he chuckled before he stood.

"Alright then. See you tomorrow?"

"Yep," you said with a smile, then watched him as he left your bedroom and listened while he slid his boots back on and quietly shut the door behind him, leaving you all alone.

"Fuck, it better work this time," you muttered as you bounced up and down on Joel's lap, your hands digging into his shoulders for support as you slid up and down on his cock. His hands held your waist, guiding you while you rode him on his couch, his eyes transfixed on where you were connected.

"Gotta relax. I told you, it ain't gonna work if you stress yourself out," he replied, eyes still glued to the way his cock emerged from your clutch even wetter than before.

"It's been six months, Joel," you whined, but he shushed you by slanting his mouth over yours. He didn't want to admit it, but he didn't mind when you came to him each month with a look of dejection when your efforts inevitably failed. He felt bad for you, don't get him wrong, but he had grown very fond of the one week every month you found yourself wrapped around his cock.

His thumb found your clit and he felt you tense and your mind went blank. Perfect.

"'S'right," he murmured, watching your face go slack, "just turn off that pretty little head of yours for a minute and lemme take care of you."

You nodded, eyes sliding shut as your hips began to work faster, rolling and grinding down on him until your nails dug into his skin and you cried out his name. Fuck, he loved hearing that. It didn't take much more for him to come, his hands gripping your sides so tight, he was afraid he might leave bruises as he thrusted up into you, giving you every last drop of his release.

"Goddamn," he whispered, head falling back onto the couch as he panted for air.

"Shit," you gasped, voice a little cracked. "Shoulda finished with me laying down. It's gonna leak out when -"

Without a word, he wrapped his arms around you and, still plugging you with his cock, twisted around so you were laying flat on the couch and he was hovering above you.

"Better?"

"Much," you giggled, playing with a stray curl over his ear. You gazed warmly at one another, neither of you saying a word as your pulse slowed and his cock softened.

"Thank you for doing this for me, Joel," you whispered, your eyes drifting all over his face, taking in every little detail.

He nodded and swallowed then forced himself to look away. If he didn't, he was worried you would see too much.

He slid out of you and grabbed a pillow, handing it to you blindly before standing and strolling to his bathroom. After he cleaned up, he leaned over his sink, hands curled around the cracked vanity, and stared at his reflection in the mirror with a pit in his stomach.

How did he let this happen?

He should have known. The morning before you came over, he had a bad feeling. Like something had shifted in the air, something had changed without his permission and it left an empty feeling in his chest.

The overly excited knock on his door as he sipped his coffee almost made him want to pretend he wasn't home, that you weren't about to bounce into his kitchen holding two white sticks with a huge grin plastered across your face. But he didn't, and you did.

Either he really sold his reaction to your news well or you were too elated to notice his heart being ripped from his chest.

It was over. You were pregnant, and you no longer needed him. You would no longer come by every month and keep his bed warm. You would no longer share breakfast with him or talk to him about the books you were reading. He would go back to being utterly and completely alone.

It took a good month or two, but he adjusted back to his normal life. You still did patrol runs with him, which he protested, but when you finally began to show around five months, you agreed to stop and found a different job in town, instead.

That made his chest crack back open. Now he hardly ever saw you. It was bad enough he didn't get to be with you, taste you, fuck you anymore, but now he didn't even get to hear your voice. Occasionally he would see you in the dining hall or in the street and you would always talk to him, but it wasn't the same. Meanwhile, you walked around Jackson with his child growing in your belly, your shirts straining against the swell of your womb, the life he put inside you blooming before everyone's eyes. And all he wanted to do was claim you, right there in the center of town for everyone to see. For everyone to look in awe at what the two of you had created together.

One evening he was sitting alone in front of his fire, sipping whiskey and staring blankly into the flames. He had a decent life, considering the circumstances. So why couldn't he just be happy?

Then a rap came at his door. Urgent and loud. He placed his tumbler down and quickly went to open it, surprised to find you waiting on the other side.

"Hey," you said breathlessly, one hand over your round stomach. His eyes dropped down to take you in before he met your gaze again.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah," you replied with a look on your face that told him you didn't realize he would obviously panic about your wellbeing at this point in your pregnancy. "Sorry, I just - can I come in?"

"Yeah, 'course," he said, stepping aside to open the door wider. You toed off your boots and shrugged off your jacket, allowing him to take it from you and hang it up before you wandered into his living room. Your eyes fell on his abandoned glass and you smiled.

"I miss drinking," you said longingly. He grinned and, leaving the whiskey where it was so as not to tempt you, sat on the couch.

"What're you doin' here so late? Is the baby okay?"

"Yeah," you nodded, tearing your eyes away from the glass and sitting down near him on the sofa. "Baby's good. I just was thinking about you and I wanted to see you."

He perked up at that, he couldn't help himself. "Oh, yeah?"

You grinned and bit your lip shyly before looking away. "I miss you, I guess."

A smile spread wide across his face. "Aw, how sweet."

You swatted an arm out to smack him on the shoulder and he laughed, his heart finally feeling like it was mending a bit.

"Jerk," you muttered, and he laughed again.

"I missed you, too," he finally admitted, his cheeks rosy from the fire and the whiskey as he gazed at you, the reflection from the flames making your skin glow. Maybe it was that pregnancy glow that everyone used to talk about. Or maybe you always glowed and he just never allowed himself to notice until it was too late.

He watched your throat work, swallowing dryly while your fingers fidgeted in your lap and he realized you were nervous.

"What if I told you I missed you as more than just friends?" you whispered, your eyes pinned to the floor, unwilling or unable to meet his gaze.

His breath caught in his throat. Surely, he must have misheard you. But then you finally turned to look at him, tears welling in your eyes, and his heart lurched in his chest.

"What if I told you I'm in love with you?" he bravely whispered back.

Your eyebrows pinched together and your face crumpled before you reached forward, curling your arms around his neck and pulling him close, your lips pressing together earnestly before opening your mouth and letting his tongue lick behind your teeth.

He wasn't sure how you both made it upstairs and into his bed. He couldn't remember peeling your clothes off, one by one, revealing more and more of your changing body to him for the first time. But he did remember seeing your bare, swollen belly underneath him while his hand slowly slid across your skin in wonder. And then he felt it. A little flutter. A little jolt. And he looked up at you in surprise.

"She's kicking," you explained, and his eyes fell back to your stomach.

"She?"

You nodded, placing your hand over his lovingly. "I think it's a girl."

He smiled as tears began to cloud his vision, then bent forward to press a kiss against your stomach, letting his lips linger so hopefully his unborn daughter could feel him there and feel the love he had for her.

You had to pull him away by his shoulders, the both of you laughing softly, unable to believe how much things had changed in just a year.

Because not only were you a couple months away from finally being a mother, but you also realized you were very, very wrong all those months ago.

The man for you was, in fact, right there all along.

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[ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused]

Hi! Spencer Reid x reader where reader is kind of panicking because she’s worried Spencer will get tired of her and find someone that’s more like him personality wise? But then Spence reassures her that he loves her and only her? 🎀🚬🤍🤎

fem bimbo!plus size reader, wc: 589.

a/n: no i am not going to let bimbo reader sleep, but also i've been posting so much aaron recently, which is funny because i've been so obsessed with spencer recently. thank you for your request!

cw! angst :(

“I guess opposites really do attract huh?”

It was just a joke. A harmless, well meaning joke that completely spun your world off of its axis.

You were aware of the differences between you and your boyfriend, but you never felt bad about it, nor did he ever make you think that you weren't good enough for him. You would have liked to think that your differences was what made Spencer fall in love with you; but now you’re not too sure.

Yeah, sure, you needed help with understanding certain things, and your processing was a bit slower than others, but that didn’t make you stupid or annoying… right? 

What if you talked too much? What about that time that you kept interrupting Spencer while he was reading? Did you irritate him? Did he think about breaking up with you? You’d never had thoughts like these before because you never had a reason to. You always felt secure in your relationship with Spencer, like you were his equal. 

Spencer wasn’t used to your silence, it was unusual and quite frankly it raised the red flags in his mind. He was so used to your rambling about anything and everything that the quietness of his apartment was making him itch. 

“Sweetheart?” He called out softly.

It was almost as if his words scared you, your body jumping at the sound of him breaking the serene atmosphere of his almost dark academia-esque apartment. 

“Yes?” Your voice was hushed and meek and Spencer absolutely hated it.

He set his book down on the side table where he uncurled his legs and patted the spot on the couch next to him. “C’mere.” You looked almost hesitant to move, but nonetheless you got up and sat down. 

He grabbed your hand and held it firmly, but you didn’t make any effort to hold it back. It made Spencer nervous; did he do something?

“Sweetheart,” He reiterated. “Is something wrong?”

“Am I too much?” Your panic was quick to build. “What do you mean?” Spencer’s brows were furrowed inquisitively. “Like - like do I talk a lot? Or - or are my clothes too colorful? Do I ask too many questions?” Your speech fired out rapidly, almost as if you didn’t say what you wanted to know you may never do.

“Hey, hey, hey… no, no, stop.” Spencer was quick to shush you, opting to hold your face instead of your hand. “Did someone tell you that?” You shook your head, “No, yes? I don’t know. It - it was just because of that stupid joke Morgan had made.”

Ah, he remembers now.

“The one about opposites attracting?” You nod feebly. “And it got me thinking… what if I’m - what if I’m not a good match for you? You might want someone that’s similar to you,  one that knows how to play chess and understands all those super cool facts you know.” 

“Honey,” Spencer interrupts with a light laugh. “No.”

He wasn’t laughing at you, he was laughing at the sheer fact that he couldn’t imagine ever wanting someone else.

“I want you. I’ve only ever wanted you. I - I do admit that we are different, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing. I like that you aren’t like me. It’s comforting, and I just… I just love everything about you. I love you.”

“You promise?” You asked wetly with a pout. His lithe thumbs swipe at the tears trickling down your cheeks as he nodded, “Of course.”

“I love you too, Spencie.” 

There you were. His girl.

ೃ⁀➷ my lovely taglist!: @alina02 @louderfortheback @minervadashwood @their-love @fandomsarelifee @theendofthe70s @nomajdetective @mgg-theprettiestboy @phoenixblack89 @celtic-crossbow @hallecarey1 @bunnybabe-babydoll @dixonzzgirl @violettavirus @khxna

[plussizefantasia]

More Body, More Money

Anthony Bridgerton x wife!reader

Word Count: 1.1k

warnings: Allusion to smut towards the end, references to a female body and that body being bigger

an: holy shit sorry for disappearing for so long. I make no promises as to when I'll come back as I seem to have a habit of breaking those. I've been in a Bridgerton mood recently though and typed this on my phone in like an hour so no promises that it's all that good. I will say though that I've been working on a request recently and it's currently at 4k and counting which is by far the longest fic I've ever written and I'm not even to the good part yet. I've also finished outlining the rest of the parts for my Kili x reader fic. I think that's it though, thanks for reading this far if you did and for putting up with my bs.

“Darling, could you come here a moment?” Your husband called from his desk. Recently you had taken to reading while lounging on the couch in his study. It was a great way to spend time with your busy husband while also letting him get his work done. 

You didn’t exactly know what he was working on at the moment but apparently, your presence was needed to solve whatever issue he had stumbled upon. It wasn’t until you got closer to his desk that you noticed the receipts and ledgers sprawled across his desk. He was updating the families' books and tracking the spending that you and the rest of his family had done that month. 

“Yes, my love?” You moved to rest your hand on his back and traced it across his shoulders and on his neck. It was as if you two were magnets, unable to keep apart for very long. If you were close enough then you would feel your hands gravitating towards him. And if the way his arm moved to rest on your back as well, he had the same urges when in proximity to you. 

“I’ve noticed something odd in the charges from the modiste.” Anthony handed you the papers. Both you and Eloise had gone to the modiste at the beginning of the month to be fitted for some new gowns to prepare for her second season in the marriage mart and your first season as the Viscountess. 

“I’ll admit to not being the most knowledgeable about gowns and other frivolities my love, but is it normal for the cost difference to be this large? I mean when Ben and I get new suits the price is almost always similar.” He pointed to the two prices listed on the bill from Madame Delacroix. 

You didn’t know how to respond to this, you knew the reason behind the price difference between yours and Elioises dresses, of course, it was something that you had thought of already. After all, it was the same reason that your younger sister always got more gowns than you every season that the two of you attended growing up. You were larger, and as the modiste you had gone to grow up with had said “More body means more fabric means more money.” more money that your father had deemed unnecessary so you had only ever gotten one or two new dresses while your sister would be fitted for five or six of the newest and most flattering styles.

But how could you explain this to Anthony? That your dresses cost more than his sisters because you were bigger, and that meant more money.

You knew Anthony loved your body, he worshiped it often in fact but there was a difference between getting lost in the softness of your embrace and seeing the real-life sometimes the financial consequences of living in a bigger body.

“Oh, Anthony, it is uh- just a matter of resources I suppose.” 

He raised a brow at you. “I’m not sure I understand. What do you mean by resources?”

“Well dear husband, you and your brother are very similar in height and build which means the two of you have very similar resource usage, whereas myself and your sister are quite different in the… resource usage department.”

“My love, I need you to speak to me as if I am an idiot.” 

You deeply sighed and prepared yourself to have the conversation that you had been trying and failing to get out of. “Eloise is small, therefore it does not take as much fabric to make her dresses, whereas I am quite well endowed and my dresses require more material. More body means more fabric means more money it is as simple as that.” 

“That is preposterous, are you both not getting dresses?” His tone was getting more defensive, and it warmed your heart to know that he was willing to get upset at the simple fact that Madame Delacroix had charged you more because your dress was bigger. You had expected him to be embarrassed, and deep down somewhat afraid that he would realize that he had signed himself up for these extra expenses for the rest of his life by marrying you. 

“Well darling, think about it, would you expect to pay the same amount for a child as you would for yourself? Do you not pay more for your suits than you do Greg’s?”

“No, I see your point darling.”

“That is all this is my love, different sizes of clothing cost different amounts. If it is a problem I can just see about getting some of my old gowns altered to make them somewhat nicer for the new season, that way you would not have to spend as much.”

“What? No. Darling, this is not about the money, I was merely worried that that woman had tried to take advantage of you, charging you far more than Eloise for the same thing. I couldn’t care less about the money. In fact, I think you should get ten more gowns made, show everyone in the Ton that I am married to the most voluptuous, sensual, and desirable woman in the world.” He pulled you closer to him so that you were standing in between his spread knees, you still standing over him as he leaned back in his chair.

Anthony began training kisses up and down the arm that he had grasped within his hand. Turning your wrist over so that he could place one at the center of your palm. 

“I do not need ten new gowns, Anthony, that is far too much.” You giggled and protested, feeling more enamored with the man you married with every word out of his mouth.

“Perhaps I shall buy you ten diamond necklaces then so that I can have an excuse to stare at your chest as often as I’d like.” You snorted and gently smacked the back of his head. “Anthony Bridgerton, that is scandalous talk and you know it.”

“Nothing is scandalous between husband and wife, especially when the two are alone.” He wiggled his eyebrows at you and lifted the corners of his lips into a sultry grin, one that had your knees feeling weaker by the second. 

“All I really need, dear husband, is you.”

A smile that you could only consider adoring spread across your husband's face.

“And I you, my love.”

“No Anthony, I need you.”

His grin turned to a full-blown smirk spreading across his face, “Well, what the Viscountess needs she gets…” 

;)

[copperbadge]

So the ADHD Handbook post struck a chord with a lot of people...

I don't think I have it in me to write the book I suggested, mainly because most of what I want to write about is variable by situation. I can't actually offer a magic formula for getting a good assessment, all I would be able to do is say "Here are the warning signs, here's my personal story, shit's just rough". Which I could do but it'd be basically an entire book of "shrug emoji". The best possible way would probably be to offer it as a workbook, like "Here is a page for you to record every communication with the clinic doing your testing. Here is a page for you to write down possible other approaches to getting your medication if the pharmacy is out." etc.

I do think I might write it as a novel of some kind. Possibly even a novel about someone writing a handbook, I haven't decided. I had a dream last night about the book, in which I saw a woman watching a revolution taking place in the distance, thinking, "This is not what I intended when I set out to write a self-help book." Baller way to start a novel, honestly.

Anyway there were several suggestions for books in the notes, so I thought I'd compile those here. I have read none of these, so I can't vouch for their contents, but I'm including what my readers said about them.

@blogquantumreality linked to How To ADHD by Jessica McCabe, who is a well-known ADHD youtuber (I haven't found her videos super helpful but they're also not aimed at me). @knitsinweirdplaces added "The last section of the How to ADHD book is literally called 'how to change the world' and exactly points out we can advocate for a more disability friendly world that traumatizes ADHDer less in the first place. It's the only book I've read that hits the balance of 'your brain has immutable challenges' and 'these strats may help' right. Bonus, it is inclusive of people who use adhd meds and those who don't/can't."

@theindefinitearticle mentioned "I read how to keep house while drowning recently and it's been much more practical for me in terms of actual usable advice." This book has also come up numerous times during National Clean Your Home Month as a helpful guide to cleaning.

@buginateacup said "The year I met my brain is the only one I've read that actually felt like it was making useful suggestions for living with ADHD."

@cabloom said "iampayingattention on Instagram wrote How Not To Fit In."

@grison-in-space said "Do you have any idea how over the top excited I was when I found I Overcame My Autism and All I Got Was This Lousy Anxiety Disorder?"

@doubleminorforroughing wrote "Please read Devon Price. He wants to tear it all down and I love it." I will add that I don't think I've read Laziness Does Not Exist but I have read Price's shortform work extensively and I think he's been very influential in rethinking how we frame laziness and productivity in relation to both work and neurodivergence, so I can second the recommendation.

[fuckyeahgoodomens]

Michael Ralph, the Good Omens Production Designer, interview for Movieweb :), summer 2023

Question: What is your reaction to your fan's positivity?

Michael Ralph: It's unbelievable. To see your work reflected in the eyes of people that love it is incredibly complimentary and it feels on, you know, you're honoured by having that response .It's rare that you get to experience it. You know, I think that we were involved recently in a fans' view of the set where all the fans who'd been involved in a competition were able to walk around the set. It's extraordinary. And I got hugs and people in tears. And it is an overwhelming experience to stand in that street and be in that bookshop when you didn't think, even though you knew, but you didn't quite know it really existed as a place that you could walk around in is quite phenomenal.

Question: Do you see locations as extensions of characters?

Michael Ralph: My feeling is that we would all, if possible, choose to live where we believe and within an environment that we believe suits us, doesn't suit anyone else. It's a fingerprint thing. It's like, where are you most comfortable? Where are you most comfortable to read or to write or to watch a programme or where do you feel the most secure?That bookshop is an anchor point visually for the show and always has been an anchor point since day one. And it is where you feel most secure. It's where the door closed, you feel safe within it. And what emanates or resonates with that bookshop, not only from the character and the position or who Aziraphale is, is that everybody that walks into that bookshop feels the same thing. Everyone that walks in that bookshop, I've said it before, just want to live upstairs and drink red wine and read books all day and they feel comfortable and they feel nostalgic and it creates a sense of security and protection. And I think that if you can create that sort of sentimentality in something that you're walking around in, it must transcend the lens. And it obviously does because people feel it all the time and they want to go there and sit around in the corner and feel comfortable. So I think that from character point of view, I started really emotionally from Aziraphale. And Neil, whenever I've thought of a great idea that I tell Neil about and he tells me how amazing it might be or how fantastic or inspired it was, I suddenly start to realise it's probably in the book or it's probably in the script between the lines. What stimulates my apophenia, what stimulates my vision and my emotional motivation to design anything is what I can see in the page. So if he has written something so universally empathetic to an audience, then I'm seeing the same thing you are, in my variation, but it really is the same warp or the same sentimentality as I said, or any of those things. So if I can find how to get my fingernails under the edge of that, how I can actually depict it, then I know that it's going to work. And that's obviously... and you can believe in it then, and you can say it with all honesty, rather than impersonate your love for something or say something because your ego tells you you should, or produce something that's a duplicate of something you saw once in Italy. This is something you've got to feel that's specific to the project and specific to the written word, you know.

Question: Do you have the freedom to do what you want?

Michael Ralph: I must admit, reading the book the first time, it was difficult to get my head around how it was going to be depicted. You've got to be very careful that you don't impersonate what you've seen before, you don't copy and then call it original when it's not, because that's sort of like a cop out. You really, honestly have to live with it 24 hours a day, even while you're asleep, and search and search and search and search to find what it is that gets your fingernails under it, to find out what it is you really believe in. And it sounds so ethereal, but it's absolutely true. If you can get that, if you can openly find that, and you've got to feel that, if you can get that, then you're absolutely on something you can invest in and then something you can produce. Because then it's not something that's duplicated. All the furniture, literally all the furniture, all of the dressing on the walls, all of the bookshelves are all built but Bronwyn, a set decorator, will buy me a lot of brown furniture that she finds as really interesting furniture. Furniture that's got spindles and handcarved pieces and reliefs in it. And she gets me stuff that she believes goes with the character of the place. And then I'll break it open. This is what construction. I love working with construction with, because I'll break it open, cut it down, reattach it, and I'll remake wholewalls and bookshelves, like in the magic shop that none of it existed until we put together loads of stuff the set decorator found, that Bronwyn found. And then all that stuff ends up having a profile of the period, or echoes to you, little visual trip hazards of the period, of size and weight. But it isn't really anything you've ever seen before. It's not from a higher shop. It's not from a piece of furniture you bought, just plunk there. Because the camera sees things differently. And we have to lift all that up and make it bigger and larger in scale to punctuate the vision. So all of that is... there's all sorts of theories, I could go on forever, you know. I was saying to Bronwyn today that I think I've been working all my life on trying to raise my intellect, to be able to incorporate a vocabulary to explain what it is I do creatively. I'm not there yet.

Question: Is there something you'd like to explore in the future?

Michael Ralph: And it's funny you should say that, because that process, from what I've explained to you, doesn't originate with me. So you need to get that book or that source material, and someone has to say, you're the guide for this, I'd love to see what you see. And then it's like this massive submerge, you submerge into it. And then it's a journey, a journey that you embrace and it reveals things that I could guess maybe 15-20 things I'd like to do on Season Three, but it's not scripted. So what is that? You know, I've got imaginary things that I will adopt because I know that they've got weight or purpose that will work for Season Three. But I need to see what Neil shows me, you know, what Neil teaches and tells me, and then once I've seen that, I can run with it. He's such a wonderful appreciator of what you achieve. He's never questioned anything I've done, ever. And it's been hundreds of things, hundreds of sets and ideas. And no matter how crazy what it is, I might end up drawing the craziest things first. But he still loves them, you know. And it feels like it probably was there already between the lines. And all I've done is pick up on it. You got to really get into it to mime what it is that affects you and what moves you. What it is you love about something. You can watch a show and read a book and not love it. You don't know why you didn't love it, it's unequatable, but you just didn't connect. But what we're trying to do with everything we do cinematically is to connect, is to somehow get through the equation. So you feel it. And I got a feeling that's why Good Omens works so well. Because of the amount of love and emotion that people put into it and amount of faith people have in what they're doing, because it's only done out of joy and it's only done for the goodness of that wonderful story that is developed and matured, within it, between the characters. And because of that, you can do nothing but sprinkle magic on it all the time.

[thebestofoneshots]

Waiting For a Girl Like You | wolfstar x reader

Pairing: R.L.. x S.B. x Gn!Reader (originally written as a woman but then I discovered I hadn't used any pronouns, and the reader was not particularly feminine, so it became my first official GN) Word Count: 5 k Warnings: None Prompt: Unbeknownst to many, your birthday has always been a quiet affair, you don't often celebrate it and you certainly weren't expecting for things to change the moment you met those two, enimagtic boys on your Creative Writing course. You could have not been more mistaken.

I got two requests a couple of weeks ago and I could not fulfil them on time for the life of me. Dear @msblacklupin and @propertyofrjl sent me similar requests about a certain birthday fic and first of all, Guys your birthdays are on the same day, How cool is that!?! Second, I'm so sorry I took so long, but it's finally here!

I decided to combine the prompts since I thought it would be really cute for the story, and this is what I've come up with.

Hope you enjoy, darlings! I'm wishing you all the best! xx Lils

Written for @msblacklupin and @propertyofrjl

You hadn’t had the best experience with birthdays so far. Back in your hometown, it was the same day as a special celebration of the discovery of the mines and they held a huge, town-wide party for it. The party was great, a fair, balloons, cotton candy, everything great, everything kids loved. Unfortunately, it was so good that people tended to forget about your birthday since they were excited about Mining Day. 

Of course, people close to you remembered (your parents), but even though you had told your friends plenty of times that your birthday was on the same day, it had slipped their minds a good deal of times. You tried to make parties and people would prefer going to see the guest singer invited to the festival. You'd make them the next day and they were too tired to come. 

Eventually, you just gave up on celebrating your own birthday and decided to join the rest on Mining Day, enjoying the candies and everything in between. It might have not been your special day but it was a special day and that was as good as you’d get. Or so you thought. 

When you moved to London for university, you didn’t even think about telling your friends about your birthday, and they hadn’t asked either. That was until you took that Creative Writing side course and met them. You had been on time but the room had been filled to the brim with students, and there was nowhere to sit. You’d huffed and were about to leave to ask for a chair from a different classroom but when you turned around you bumped into the prettiest person your eyes had ever laid eyes upon, piercing grey eyes, long wavy hair, and features so elegant he looked royal.

He smiled, such a pretty smile. “Hey, you were going for one of these? I brought extra,” he said as he pulled one of the chairs up to signal what he was talking about. 

“Yeah,” you said shily. 

“Cool, come along then,” he said and you moved out of the way as he moved with the chairs. He moved his chairs all the way to a table where there was another stunning person sitting down. “What’s your name, Luv?” You replied with your name, soft and polite. “Pretty,” he said, flashing that same smile your way, meaning both you and your name, not that you knew. He accommodated the chairs, one next to each other, wiped his hands on his black jeans and then extended his hand to you. “Sirius Black.” 

You shook his hand and then the other boy’s warm smile caught your eye. “Remus Lupin,” he said with his hand extended as well. He had scars all over his body, but it didn’t make him any less handsome. Were you curious about them? Of course, you were. Were you gonna ask? No way in hell.

The boys had met each other at a boarding school in Scotland and had moved to London recently. Remus wanted to take a lit class and tried to convince his friends to join him but Sirius didn’t love the idea of a class where he’d have to read and analyse books, so he suggested taking something more on the creative side. 

Remus found the Writing Course and Sirius had been more than happy to join him. You and Remus actually had a lot in common, you discovered as the class went on. You had both read a lot, and you veered towards the same authors and storylines. You had an insane passion for Oscar Wilde and he loved Mary Shelly. You sometimes wondered if he liked her so much because of the way she described the Fiend, you truly hoped that wasn’t it, because while you could see how Rem would relate to the monster, you hated the idea of it, since you considered him absolutely stunning. 

Days had gone by, and while you always sat with the boys and hung out with them every time you saw them at school, you hadn’t really seen them outside of it, that was until you got a group assignment and Sirius was quick to place his arms around both you and Rem and claim you as his team. 

Remus scribbled your names on a piece of paper and handed them over to the teacher before she assigned each of you a different subject for your story. You got fantasy. The boys seemed to be diverted when you started talking about mythical creatures and wizards, and you assumed it had something to do with an inside joke they developed through the years of knowing each other.

They invited you over to their apartment that was just next to a corner cafe cleverly named “The Corner” and you had stopped by to get something for you and the boys, since you weren’t sure how long it would take and were now waiting just outside the door to their apartment complex. 

“We’re coming, Sweets,” Sirius’ voice said through the speakers as the door buzzed open to let you in. 

You used your shoulder to push inside and carefully moved the carton with the three coffee cups inside as you entered, your backpack strap got caught in the door and you were forced to turn around to and you opened the door again, placing the paper bag with fresh bread on your mouth to free one of your hands and pulled the strap free. 

When you turned around, you were shocked to find a smiling Sirius right in front of your face. “You shouldn’t have bothered, Luv!” he said and extended his hand towards your mouth, taking the paper bag and then the carton with the coffee from your hand.

“I wanted to,” you said simply. 

Sirius and you went up the stairs, Remus was waiting by the door and the two of them welcomed you in. For an apartment belonging to two boys, it was surprisingly neat. Remus had arranged his coffee table with a few cushions over the rug so you all could sit together, he had a couple of pens and pencils, his notebook and a stunning Remington Typewriter. 

You almost walked straight to look at it when you spotted it on the table, “This is her, isn’t it?” 

“Yeah,” Remus said as he sat beside you. “Wanna try it?” 

“Can I please?” you asked, you had a Brother one at your apartment, and you adored her, but Remingtons were classics. His was from the 50s and it looked brand new. Rather than responding, Remus placed a paper through the platen and pushed it towards you. 

Since you didn’t actually have a plan to write something, you just typed the boys’ Name and then yours, right at the top of the paper. 

“What are we going to write then? Any ideas?” 

“Didn’t you say you wanted to talk about wizards?” Sirius asked with a smile. 

“But do you want to?”

He chuckled, “Of course, Sweets, we’d love to go for that.” He reclined his head on the sofa. “We’ve actually discussed it, and we have some ideas, don’t we Moony?” 

Remus shot a look at Sirius, who winked in return. 

“Yeah?” You asked as you turned your gaze to Sirius. “For the plot?”

“Mhm… hear me out. It’s a hidden school for wizards, you get there by taking a secret train hidden at King’s Cross. The school is full of magic and mysteries and ghosts and other magical creatures.” 

You frowned, “I don’t know… it sounds a little too surrealistic, doesn’t it?”

Sirius laughed at your statement and Remus threw pillow towards his face, you squirmed in your seat a little uncomfortably and then Rem placed his hand on your shoulder, “It’s okay, Dove. We don’t have to go for Sirius’ idea.”

“But he said you wanted to write about it too…”

“I’ll be happy with whatever we make. I know with our writing skills and Sirius’ creativity we’ll make something brilliant.” 

You pulled out your notebook and checked the list of ideas for the story you had to write. It had to be at least 50k words and you had three weeks to finish it. So the three of you would have to get writing as soon as possible, which meant you had to define the story and you had to define it fast. Most of your ideas were either unfinished, not doable in such a short time or had the opportunity to be integrated into Sirius’ magic school. 

“Okay, tell me more about your Wizard’s school.” 

Sirius smiled, threw a look at Remus –a satisfied sort of look– before turning back to you, “Okay, so the name is Wartshow: School for Wizardry and Witchcraft, and–“ 

“Doesn’t Witchcraft and Wizardry sound better, though?” 

Sirius licked his lips and smiled. “All right then, Wartshow: School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.” You wrote it down in your notebook. 

“It’s the story about a boy, a boy that thought they wouldn’t be able to assist even though he was a wizard.” 

“Sirius,” Remus said in a warning tone. 

“Shut up Moony, you’ll kill my inspiration.” 

“Why did he think that?” You asked. 

“Because he was bitten by a werewolf when he was 4.”

 Remus scoffed and stood up, “I’ll bring the snacks.” 

“Is he okay?” you asked. 

“He’s not a fan of my story,” Sirius said. “He says the main character is not a hero, but I differ.” 

You hummed in response. “What’s the boy’s name?” 

“Re- Andrew,” he said, “Andrew Renault.” 

“Renault? Is he french?” 

“No, I don’t– he is not.” 

“Okay, then we should go for a more English name, like… Remington?” 

“Andrew Remington? Sounds posh.” 

“As if  Sirius Black sounded less posh,” you joked and he scoffed playfully at you. He continued listing his ideas, telling you Remus’ story although he had changed the names of almost everyone. “Will there be dragons?” you asked after he had laid out the basic idea.

 “Dragons? Those are dangerous!” 

“Of course they are, but it’s more exciting than the…ugh” –you checked your notes– “boggart monster you mentioned.” 

“Dragons are definitely more exciting than Boggarts,” Remus said as he sat on the floor next to you. You couldn’t help but notice his scars, perhaps Sirius had used those as inspiration for Andrew. 

“Okay, so we’ll add dragons. What if there’s a dragon in the dungeons?” 

“No, in the dungeons there are snakes,” Sirius said as if it were a fact. He had clearly thought this out. 

“Okay… what about a secret room in the castle that has dragons? It’s magical, right? It could be bigger on the inside, like the TARDIS.” 

“The what?” Sirius asked, confused. 

“The TARDIS! From Doctor Who?” you said as if it were a fact, he still looked confused. “You do know what I’m talking about, right Rem?” 

“Is it a book?” he asked. 

“A book? How do you even call yourself Brits if you don’t know about Doctor Who? That’s it, Sunday, my house, we’re watching a marathon.” 

“Whatever you want, dove,” Remus said and handed you a piece of chocolate. 

“So, going back to the story. A room that’s bigger on the inside. Like a… Chamber of Secrets?”

“Sirius,” Remus warned again. 

“It’s what she said!” Sirius said defensively. 

After that, you finished plotting the small story in between the three, even with the slight reluctance you detected from Remus, you got around to defining all of your main characters, the challenges they’d go through and the resolution of the story. 

“By the way, tomorrow is our flatmate James’ birthday,” Sirius said as he closed the notepad he’d been writing on. “Wanna come to the party?” 

“I don’t think I’ve met James, though.” 

“It’s fine, he’ll love to meet you I’m sure,” Remus said. “When is your birthday?” 

“I–“ you hesitated, “I don’t really celebrate it.” 

“Why not? We should definitely celebrate the day you were brought into this world,” Sirius said. 

You smiled, Sirius could be the sweetest sometimes. “I don’t do parties…” 

“Because you don’t want to?” 

“No! It’s just… long story, don’t bother yourselves with it.” 

“I’ll tell you a secret,” Sirius offered. “In exchange, you give me your birthday, how about that?” 

You laughed, Sirius wasn’t the type to care too much about things, so you walked towards him and whispered the date in his ear. 

“Now yours?” you said as he leaned closer to you. 

“It’s all real, we are magicians from the school in our story,” he whispered. 

You laughed. “I thought you’d tell me a real secret, should have known,” you added as you shoved him, he just laughed and shrugged in response, as if he was saying it’s your loss, for not believing his lie. 

After that day, you hung out with them almost all the time, be it to watch movies, to continue that Doctor Who marathon, or to hang out with the boys on their birthdays. In fact, it was almost odd if you didn’t see each other in more than a couple of days, since they would find almost any reason to meet, Sirius would call and say ‘Hey, there’s a new movie I want to see, you coming with us?’

Or Remus would leave a note on your mailbox telling you to come with him to a library later that day since he had just finished the book he was reading and you were always the best at finding the right books. 

So. of course, you thought it was odd when, on the morning of your birthday, you called their apartment and got no response. Now you weren’t expecting a grandiose party, you weren’t even going to get a cake or anything, but you wanted to see them, maybe go out for dinner, or have a cinema night. You rang them again and still no answer. 

You sighed and walked towards school. You didn’t have that creative writing course today so you weren’t expecting to see them there, but perhaps on the lunch break, you’d find them in your usual spot. 

Your classes were rather tedious, an old professor that spoke very quietly and you had to sit at the very front to even hear him, and then another professor who almost always went over the same thing you’d seen in the first class. Always, round and round the same thing, with nothing new. At least you’d have a class with Professor Almain before lunch. It was your favourite class of the semester –aside from the writing course– and so far, you thought it’d be the highlight of your day. 

But when you got to his classroom, the room was empty and there was a short note on the board: Professor Almain is indisposed today. Study Chapters three and four of your book, you’ll be discussing them next class. The note was signed by Tobby Klein, his assistant. 

You sighed and sat down on one of the chairs, sulking as you took out the book mentioned and started to read. Someone else tried to enter the room a few minutes later, and when they realised there would be no class, they left the classroom instantly. Perhaps they had something better to do, you didn’t. 

You had taken that class as an extracurricular, so you barely knew the students in it, and your classmates were in a class you had taken online, so you couldn’t exactly go search for any of them. You could have gone to the library, but it also seemed unnecessary when you had a perfectly quiet classroom all to yourself. 

You were about halfway through the chapter when you heard someone knocking on the glass window. When you turned you spotted Sirius waving his hand at you with a bright, pearly smile. He looked as dashing as ever. It was ridiculous how pretty you still thought he was even when you saw him all the time. 

He entered the room shortly after. “What are you here all alone?” he asked as he pulled a chair next to yours and pressed a short kiss on your cheek as a greeting. Sirius did that all the time, you’d assumed it was because he was half French. 

“Class was cancelled,” you said as you pointed to the board. “Had nowhere to go. Aren’t you supposed to be in class too?” 

He hummed in response. “It’s that stupid advanced maths class Moony convinced me to take, I was falling asleep and asked to go to the bathroom to throw some water at my face when I spotted you.” 

“You should go back.” 

“To maths? Rather than staying with you? Yeah, right!” 

A small smile appeared on your lips as you stared at him while shaking your head in disbelief. “What if you fail, though?” 

“I’m not going to fail,” he said with a shrug. “Moony can tell me what it was about later. Wanna grab something to eat? My treat.” 

You nodded and pulled your bag from the ground. “I was actually going to invite you guys over tonight,” you said as you opened the zipper and placed the book inside the bag, “I mean I’m sure you don’t remember, and I don’t really want to make anything big but–“ 

“That today is your birthday?” Sirius asked. 

You turned to him in shock, “You– you…” 

“How on earth would I forget?” he said with a smile. “It’s the day my best girl was born. They should make a fucking parade for you.” 

You felt your cheeks warm at Sirius’ grandiose attitude. “Come on,” he said as he stood up and offered his hand. “It feels like a day for ice cream, want some?” 

You nodded and he dragged you towards the parking lot, his hand not leaving yours at all, you tried to ignore the fluttering in your chest since you suspected he had a thing with Remus, but it was almost impossible when he looked at you with his stunning grey eyes. 

He took out the helmet they’d gotten you when they started offering to take you on rides from Moony’s bike and handed it over. It was a full-face black helmet that matched the one the two of them wore almost perfectly, but while Moony’s had a half moon and Sirius’ had a star, yours had both. 

It had been Remus who added the matching moon, and Sirius –who instantly got jealous over it– painted a star right in the middle, he was exceptionally good at painting, sometimes you wondered why he didn’t study art. Then again, you weren’t sure what exactly they were studying, since they had taken classes from more than four different degrees as if they had only picked the few classes that they were interested in.

 You took the helmet in between your hands and hopped on Sirius’ bike. He drove you to the small park that was just a couple of minutes from the school and got you your favourite ice cream from the small ice cream shop James had discovered a while back. 

“So, about tonight?” 

“Moony has a thing,” Sirius said with an apologetic smile. “He has a big presentation tomorrow and he’s working on it with his team tonight, they’ll be using the rooftop of our apartment for it, I believe.” 

“Oh,” you said, trying to hide your disappointment. 

Sirius bit his lip, “Why don’t you come over?” 

“I wouldn’t want to be a distraction, I mean–“ 

“I don’t have to work on any projects,” Sirius said. “We could play chess, watch a movie while he finishes and then we order something to eat.” 

“You– do you really think that’s a good idea?” you asked, uncertain, as you brought your ice cream to your mouth.

“For sure,” he said. “We could get a cake and–“ 

“No cakes.” 

“But you like cakes!” 

“Not on my birthday.” 

“That’s ridiculous! You have something on your face.” 

“Where?” you asked. 

“There,” he said as leaned his finger close to you and smeared some of his ice cream over your cheek. You gasped in shock. 

“Sirius!” you admonished.

“Yes, Luv?” he responded, as if you had just called him.

You used the napkin wrapped around your cone to clean your cheek, “That was uncalled for.” 

“I don’t know about that, your cheeks looked like they needed some ice cream,” he said while trying, and failing to hold back a smile, he pulled a napkin from his pocket, much like a magician would do, and handed it over to you. You were about to take it from his hand, but he shook his head and wrapped his fingers around your chin and turned your head to the side softly. “Allow me.” 

He took longer than needed while whipping your cheek, but he didn’t exactly want to pull apart, and you didn’t want him to pull apart either. 

“There you go.” 

“It’s sticky now,” you teased. 

“Nothing can keep you happy, can it, Sweetheart?” he said dramatically and wrapped his arm over your shoulders and leaned his head on yours. 

You just laughed. Sirius convinced you to skip the next class and stay with him at the park and then took you home. 

“Want me to pick you up?” He asked as you got down from the bike. He had propped the small side stand down and was leaning on the handlebar. You could hardly believe he had driven you all around looking that handsome, with his leather jacket, and high boots. Sirius was pretty all the time, but sometimes he felt more like a fictional character than like an actual human. 

You saw a girl eyeing him as she passed by, and you couldn’t help but smile at him and nod. “Yeah, that would be lovely. At 7?” 

He smiled, gave you a short wink, and put his helmet back on. “See you soon, Sweetheart.” He said, voice slightly muffled by the helmet before he drove off. You entered your apartment shortly after, and it took you a whole minute to recover. It’s not that you hadn’t gone out with Sirius plenty of times, but this one seemed a lot more like a date than all of the previous ones. 

You took a snack bar from your pantry, went for a shower, and asked your classmates about the class you’d missed. A friend of yours told the teacher that you were feeling sick to cover for you and he said he wouldn’t count the absence (it was the first time you missed that class anyway), and you had always been rather participative. 

After that, you grabbed the book you’d been reading and read until it was 7. The light outside had already gone out, and you took some chocolates you’d bought for Remus last week and placed them in your backpack, it was then that you heard the familiar honk of Sirius’ Triumph.

You walked downstairs and met him outside. He switched his band tee for a snug turtleneck sweater that fit him obscenely well and was still wearing his leather jacket. You had kept your helmet and put it on as you approached his bike. 

“You smell nice,” you said as you sat behind him.

“You think?” he asked, playing dumb. “Maybe it’s the aftershave,” he added as he pulled the side stand up and drove into the street. You eyed him suspiciously, not that you could see much while he had his helmet on but you still did.

By the time you arrived at their apartment, you had forgotten all about your suspicion and were just leaning onto Sirius as much as you could, since the night had grown a lot colder than you expected it would. Sirius parked his bike just outside and the two of you walked the three floors of stairs to their apartment.

You expected to see James lounging around like he often did, but he was not there, and Sirius told you Remus was on the terrace at the top, doing his thing, so you walked towards the sofa while Sirius offered to make you a cup of tea.

“Remus bought the one you like,” he said, pulling out a box with the tea you had tried a while back. You had fallen in love with the flavour, but you never found it in the supermarket –it was from a small tea shop at Diagon Alley, so really, there would be no way for you to find it.

“Okay,” you said, “got milk?” 

Sirius nodded towards the fridge and you helped him by pulling out the milk and some biscuits. When your cup was ready, he handed it over to you and took a sip of his own. He glanced at the clock quickly, so quick you barely even noticed and then smiled. It was that mysterious smile of his that told you he was up to something. “We should go see Remus.” 

“What? I thought he was working on his project.” 

“He probably is, but you haven’t seen him all day, I’m sure he wants to at least give you a birthday hug.” 

“A birthday hug?” you asked in disbelief. 

“Yes! A birthday hug! We’ll bother him for a bit and then we come back and you tell me about that book you’ve been reading. The one with the character you said reminds you of me.” 

“You’re so full of yourself,” you said with a laugh as you nodded and followed along with him. 

As you reached the top of the stairs you heard some shuffling on the other side of the door. Sirius was the one to open it first, but none of the lights they normally had were up. 

“Maybe they went to do their homework at the Corner Cafe,” you told Sirius as you turned to him. Suddenly all the lights turn on, including candles and the hanging fairy lights at the top. 

“Surprise!” A chorus of voices sang.

You were startled, Remus and James were right in front of their small table, and there was a cake right in front of them. They had invited their friend Lily, who was dating James and with whom you were fairly close to. She was the first one to approach you.

“I can’t believe Sirius was the one to tell me when your birthday was, Luv! He used to forget mine all the time!” She turned to Sirius with an accusing gaze and then back at you. “Happy Birthday,” she added as she hugged you. 

James gave you a short squeeze after and Remus wrapped you in his arms and pressed a kiss to the crown of your head. Sirius joined the hug right after. 

“You’re squeezing me, boys!” you complained in a laugh. 

“It’s a birthday squeeze, deal with it,” Sirius responded, and pressed even closer. 

“Remus?” you tried, he was the most reasonable one between the two. 

“You heard Sirius, Dove. It’s the birthday squeeze.” 

You must have stayed like that for at least a minute before either of the two let go of you, you were certain Lily had whispered something to James, but you were too busy basking on the wrath of the squeeze to bother. After that, you would have sworn the lights of the cake turned on by themselves as Lily walked over to you with it. They sang Happy Birthday while Sirius pulled you to sit on his lap, using the terrible excuse that there was no other seat available. 

You had cake and then they handed over your gifts. A book from Lily and a chocolate frog from James, although he warned you not to open it until later. You didn’t know what that was about but decided to do what was told. Eventually, Lily said she had to go and James offered to walk her. 

Although he said ‘I’ll fly you’ getting a look from Remus that you missed entirely. The boys had extended a pair of matts over the deck and you were all laying on them while gazing at the stars. 

“It was lovely, thank you for the surprise,” you said as you looked at the waning moon. 

“It was nothing, Luv,” Rem said.

“Remus was really eager to celebrate your birthday. We actually have a little present for you,” Sirius added. 

“Really?” you asked, turning to Sirius.

“Mhm,” he nodded. 

“Open the frog,” Remus prompted. 

You leaned forwards and sat on the mat, pulling the frog from the table and doing what told. Suddenly the Frog that looked like it had been made out of chocolate jumped and fell near Remus’ leg. You gasped and stared at the moving frog. It looked like chocolate, but it moved as if it were alive. 

“What– did James give me an actual frog?” 

“No, it’s chocolate,” Remus reassured and picked it up. The frog stilled in his hand. 

You stared at it in disbelief, “Is this some sort of trick?” 

“It’s magic,” Sirius said. 

You frowned at him.

“Remember the story for our class? The one that we worked on together?” 

“Wartshow, Andrew, yeah of course.” 

“Well, It’s sort of real.” 

“What?” 

Remus pulled out his wand and handed it over to you. You stared at it, it looked like a wand, it felt like a wand, but there was no way it was magic because magic– “Is this some kind of trick?” 

Sirius laughed and pulled out a different wand from his pocket, he whispered something and red sparks blew out from the tip. You swallowed and took it from his hands. Checking on it to see if there was some kind of trick, or cannon dust or something inside of it, but it was just a stick, fancy, but a stick. 

Remus took his wand and with another set of words, levitated the small frog right in front of your face. You looked at it with eyes wide open and moved your hand all over it to make sure it really was floating, and it wasn’t some kind of invisible string trick. It was right in front of your eyes, and it was still too fascinating to believe.

“But… in our story, wizards couldn’t tell the non-wizards about their existence. It was meant to be a secret… I mean… Why are you telling me?” 

Remus smiled, his hand searched yours and he leaned his head on top of yours and sighed. “Because we trust you,” he said while looking ahead, at nothing in particular.

Sirius searched for your other hand, making sure to turn it around and interwinning his fingers with yours. He placed his head on your shoulder. “Because we like you.” 

You hadn’t had the best experience with birthdays, but this had been one of the nicest birthdays of them all, more so when your two crushes admitted what Sirius had meant by his words. That they liked you –romantically– not just as friends. 

A/N: I am so, SO sorry for taking this long to finish your gift, but I made it a bit longer than initially planned to make up for it.

Hope you both had the most amazing birthday and that you're having a wonderous day today. Sending you lots of love, hope you enjoy this little thing <3

[bettsfic]

Betts. how do I stop feeling jealous of everyone and everything and just focus on myself? I'm tired of being comprised of nothing but envy.

story time:

so i was recently at Millay, which is one of the top artist residencies in the country. they have an acceptance rate of something like 3%. when i was shown my room, there was a packet of all the residents' artist bios. i sat down and read through all of them. most of them were like half a page in length, single-spaced, listing out accomplishments i could never dream of. one artist had won a guggenheim. one author had published 12 books. another author published her first book at 19 years old. these were people who were extremely well accomplished and respected in their fields.

and we all became very good friends!

and then there was me. my bio was 3 sentences listing out a couple short publications and awards and other residencies i'd done. and my honest to god first thought was, "wow, the jurors must have really liked my writing to have accepted me among all these great artists."

and my second thought was, "that's the healthiest thing i have ever thought."

i had no jealousy of their accomplishments. even though my career hadn't even begun compared to theirs, i didn't attend dinner that night with any impostor syndrome. and that confirmed for me that i had grown out of whatever place i used to be in as a person, where i was basically a raw wound wrapped in barbed wire. everything hurt me and i hurt everything in return.

jealous feelings come from an intense need of external approval, but as i've mentioned in other asks, approval and validation is a well that gets filled over time. at our introductory dinner that night, i didn't talk about my work in the hope of convincing everyone i deserved to be there, which was what i would've done a few years before. instead we all ended up talking about a TV show. the most highbrow place i've ever been in my life, and we're getting wine drunk and discussing at length a cheesy discovery channel reality series. the guggenheim winner: loves box turtles. the guy who's published 12 books: his favorite movie is Spirited Away. the girl who published a book at 19: reads One Direction fanfic. the well-lauded poet: old school tumblrina.

actually, 4 out of 7 of us read fanfic and we had some great conversations about it. sometime i'll tell you about introducing the co-director of the residency to AO3.

when you think of the most accomplished and successful writer you've ever read, remember that they are, at the very core of their being, a nerd. and if you were to eat dinner with them, you would, with enough polite inquisitiveness, be able to unlock the goofy side of them that binges Property Brothers.

so that was the big change for me, i think. i started asking a lot of questions. i stopped talking and i started listening. it seems counterintuitive that admitting to not knowing stuff shows confidence, but it does. pretending you know stuff is what looks insecure. i think for me, i put so much of myself in my work, i wanted my work to be lauded so i could feel accomplished, and feeling accomplishment would let me believe i deserved to exist. but over time, i've reframed that mentality. my work is a thing that exists beyond me and is private to those who read it. it comes from me, but it is not me. what i am is just the person i am, and my life is a series of moments i choose for myself, and i am allowed to exist.

even sending this ask shows that you've begun filling your well. it takes someone who's already come a long way to realize jealousy isn't the status quo and is a feeling to be overcome. and you can overcome it. you can reach a place where you have enough success that other people's success has nothing to do with you, and you're free to just be happy for them. and when you read work that's better than yours you feel joy at learning something new.

so put your work into the world and let it be rejected. you'll rack up a couple wins or close calls, and those will give you energy to be rejected some more. and eventually you'll be rejected so much that rejection doesn't feel like anything, and you will have won enough to realize your work has a place in the world, and that place is no bigger or smaller than anyone else's. your work is allowed to exist simply as it is, and you are allowed to exist simply as you are.

[mywritingonlyfans]

Rapture. // Cillian Murphy X Reader. (Smut!)

prompt: You're younger, and love partnered with Cillian in filming a movie. He's developed certain feelings for you and finding himself struggling with them recently, until things get worse with the idea of a sex scene being added to the script. (age gap, wax play and some other sex stuff)

words: 4,3K.

He had received the script update that morning, and as he saw your eyes shift away from him during casual conversations before rehearsals, he knew you had read the new scenes. Both of you were aware of the possibility of that much-discussed sex scene that the director was considering adding. However, neither of you had imagined how it would play out, and the thought of being partially undressed in front of each other felt somewhat odd. Still, Cillian couldn't help but envision the words he had read earlier that morning coming to life in just a few weeks' time.

Now, you were sitting across from him, wearing a loose blouse and comfortable shorts, with your legs crossed. Your fingers tapped lightly on the script as you read your lines. As the others left the room, he realized that your nervousness wasn't about needing to rehearse in a few minutes, but about him being there. Cillian had initially dismissed his thoughts about you, attributing them to the recent divorce he was going through. However, he soon realized that these feelings were more than just passing thoughts.

He had already developed a pure and genuine admiration for you. He found himself lost in daydreams of conversations you could have, where he could rest your head on his chest and kiss your forehead, assuring you that everything was alright. Just as he found himself reliving the moments when you would get excited and talkative about the books you were reading after he mentioned that he had already read them. Each time you passionately shared your thoughts and enthusiasm for the stories, he couldn't help but be captivated by your animated expressions. The way your eyes would light up, the gestures you made, and the genuine joy in your voice made him smile, even long after the conversations had ended.

Yet, your expressions, your smiles, and your worries were too precious for him, but he reminded himself daily that such feelings were wrong, even though he couldn't stop them from growing.

What used to be harmless had taken a different turn after those new scenes were added to your interactions. Reading the scene had been somewhat painful, but seeing you there in person made it even more overwhelming (though not necessarily bad). The room was small, with scented candles around, something the director believed would help the actors feel at ease, though that wasn't the result Cillian was experiencing. He was practically lying in front of you, trying to make himself comfortable, avoiding looking into your eyes, though he hadn't noticed that his hands were sweaty and his breathing was heavier.

Still, he mustered the courage to gaze at you for a brief moment, trying to keep his thoughts from spiraling. "You've read it, haven't you? How do you feel?" Your nervous laughter was adorable, and your hands tightened around the script, making him notice how delicate and smaller they were compared to his own. "Yeah, I read it," your voice sounded weak, and he waited for your prolonged sigh before you continued. "I've never done something like this before, not even in theater." His face turned red, and he tried to comfort you with just a look. Touching you at this moment felt like a terrible idea, but he still did it, sitting next to you, making sure his shoulder touched yours. Contrary to what he thought, you seemed to relax at the contact, appearing more relieved. "It must be strange having to do this scene with me, given that I have no experience. Sometimes I feel like I'm not bringing positive results to your work." He immediately shook his head, hating it when you belittled yourself. You were incredibly talented.

Still, he lingered on those words. How inexperienced were you really? He had to control himself not to sound breathless as he continued, "You actually make it more enjoyable, and it'll be fine. If you agree, we can go through the lines before filming the scene. And if there's anything I can do to make you feel more at ease with this or anything else, I'll be right here." You turned to him, your angelic face now less worried, and nodded, unsure of what to say. There was a comfortable silence, and Cillian found himself smiling with closed eyes. Stopping these thoughts might be better, but they were inevitable. All he could do was wait and deal with it when the time came, even if there were more scenes after this, as well as marketing and interviews after all the filming...

...

He woke up feeling hot, drops of sweat on his temples and his chest damp. His mouth was dry, and his mind was still on your slightly parted lips, imagining how they would grow wetter as you felt him on your skin the previous night. He felt tight in his shorts, and your scent near him caused a pounding in his head. You were peacefully asleep as if you had never given yourself to him, as if you hadn't suggested adding more intensity to your lovemaking after exhausting all your muscles and neurons together. He hugged your body tighter, wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you closer against him. You snuggled into him, and he brushed your hair away from your face and neck, kissing the spot with caution, yet urgency, until you slowly woke up and reciprocated. Your touch was delicate and gentle, just as he had fantasized before, and it fed his mind entirely.

And you felt like you could still taste yourself on him as he intensified the kisses, and your control was slipping away with each firm squeeze he gave your hips and how solidly hard he was against you. Cillian was aware that you enjoyed it—the marks left, the momentary pain when he bit your thigh, and the darker hues that you hid the next day from the intense way he kissed your breasts while you rode him. Your serene eyes and slightly parted lips showed calm facial expressions, and you found yourself surrendering to him fully. Despite no apparent reason except him being older than you, and even though it might be considered inappropriate, he found himself enjoying the thought while your features became even more devoted.

He unbuttoned your last buttons, leaving his hands free to explore every inch of you, and smiled at your soft moan when his fingers touched the marks under your breast. He kissed the spot, running his tongue over the sensitive skin, and grunted at your soft whimper. Your head was buried deep in the pillow, and Cillian didn't hesitate to position himself so he had a full view of you.

"I have an idea, I think you'll like it," he whispered, out of breath, and you chuckled in response. The room was still dark, far from dawn, and the only illumination came from the scented candles you kept on the nightstand to create a soothing sleeping environment. He had them well-reserved in his mind at the moment.

"Can I hear it first, sir?" you asked curiously, completely surrendering to this. Cillian loved how you trusted him without even needing to hesitate, even though there was no apparent reason to trust him other than him being older than you, and even though it might be considered inappropriate. He found himself enjoying that thought as your features became even more devoted. He nodded and unbuttoned your last buttons, leaving his hands free to explore every inch of you, smiling at your soft moan when his fingers touched the marks under your breast. He kissed the spot, running his tongue over the sensitive skin, and grunted at your soft whimper. Your head was buried deep in the pillow, and Cillian didn't hesitate to position himself so he had a full view of you.

"I'll try it, and you'll tell me if it's not okay, alright?" You were a bit whiny and clearly still sensitive from the previous hours, and he loved that. Your gaze was satisfied, and your muscles visibly relaxed; he loved the effect he had on you. You nodded, "I'm okay, Cill." Your hands went to his hair as he moved to your collarbone, showering it with kisses, bites, sucks, and eventually, firm grips. He could taste the flavor of your moans and cries on the tip of his tongue.

 Something about it felt so real it burned in him. The recorded scene of the film was recurrent and he was there confirming the perfection of what he had seen before.

He enjoyed the way you let him do whatever he wanted with you, how it consumed his mind and forced him to maintain control, not to go too far with you. The knowledge that no one had touched you before, tasted you, or marked you in such an intense way only heightened everything further. His teeth chattered, and his knees felt weak at what was to come.

Pulling away, he gracefully tugged on your hair, and his chest was filled with your half-closed, half-tired gaze that seemed to pierce him. He rubbed against the sheets beneath him, feeling sore just from the thought alone, and you chuckled sweetly. His head swirled, and he leaned over and grasped the candle holder, his fingertips briefly turning red from the heat. You paid more attention, adjusting yourself on the pillow, but he disapproved, "You don't need to do that; I want you to relax like before, princess. Just focus on emptying your mind, lie down and be cute."

You did nothing but nod and return to your previous position, but this time letting your body go limp wasn't so easy. You could feel how wet you were from the mere thought of what had already corrupted your mind. Still between your legs, Cillian caressed the inside of your thigh, and you realized you had closed them; your mind was cluttered and hard to control. You spread them apart, leaving no room for ambiguity, making it clear that you didn't want him to hold back with whatever this was. He positioned himself better between you, allowing you to feel how heavy he was even with layers of fabric between you—his shorts and your panties. You could swear you already had a wet spot in yours. Your chest was desperate, rising up and falling down slowly, and Cillian couldn't look at you without wiping the satisfied smile off his face. 

He raised the candle holder, and you could feel the heat on your breasts, your nipples excited by the sensation. The flicker of the fire was reflected in his eyes, and your lips pressed firmly together. You stifled a whimper, but couldn't hold back the whining when the wax dripped onto your sensitive skin that had already been exhausted by him. "I want to hear you, don't hold back," his high-pitched voice with a serious expression, his lines well-defined from how focused he was, left you dazed, and you needed to grind against him strongly, causing both of you to grunt and release the air from your lungs. He was happy with this, happy that you were desperate and that he was causing you some pain.

Cillian lifted the candle again and watched the droplets of wax fall onto you, tracing a line from the center of your breasts to your lower belly. Compared to his, your face was angelic with each movement, the soft moans leaving your expression even more inviting as you felt small in front of him. Your stomach clenched, and your face displayed a mixture of pain along with soft, adorable moans that made him want to explode. His hands trembled, and he had to focus hard not to finish right then and there and be done with it.

"Fuck, pumpkin, you look so good," and you enjoyed how seeing you like this had that effect on him. Your eyes closed, and everything felt intensified; your hips involuntarily spasmed against his, but it was a futile act. He audibly laughed from time to time, sweet and mature yet perverse, as if to make it clear how satisfying this was for him, and it left you completely dizzy and longing for more. He peeled off some hardened wax from your skin, admiring the marks it had left, and after massaging the area for a while he allowed the liquid to accumulate as it burned, running his tongue over the area and sucking the skin to him.

Your nails dug into his shoulder with enough force to leave crescent moons, and he let go, his teeth clearly imprinted on your skin, your fervor only making him more determined. He ran his thumb over the spot that would later be darkened and poured the excess of wax into you. Your legs tightened around him, and your hands grasped the sheets, tears welling up in your eyes, and your whimpering was soft but pleading, not exactly knowing what plea was being conveyed through it all. "Fuck, Cill, fuck, fuck," you tried hard for some relief. He halted his movements, forcing your legs to stop and holding your arms down to the mattress. He was delicate yet firm, just as you needed. You had a safe word; he knew you were okay, you were just trying to get his attention.

The holder, with the candle still burning, was now beside the sheets next to you. "Look at me, babygirl." You swallowed hard, tears streaming down the sides of your face. "Let's be good and not knock over the candle," he said firmly and clearly, and you nodded in pure eagerness, watching his well-defined and prominent muscles due to the force with which he was holding you. He kissed your face, wiping away the salty dampness, then moved to your mouth, which you wisely captured in a somewhat desperate act. He pulled away slowly, a thin trail of saliva connecting you both and slowly fading away.

He chuckled, and with no more, held your jaw and used his thumb to make you open your lips for him, sealing them with his, and soon you felt the buildup in you, and with a fuller sigh, you swallowed his breath over the messy kisses, feeling somewhat comforted. He caressed your cheek with his fingers, studying you, and you stuck your teeth into them, still trying not to move too much and be good. It was obvious you were struggling with this task. "It's good, Cill, I don't mind." He continued with more kisses and wet bites on your body, tightly gripping the open bars of your shirt with a gentle yet firm grip, almost causing your back to lift slightly off the mattress in need of him. It wasn't hard to tell you were younger, just looking at your genuine eyes was enough, and the reminder of that, that it was wrong in a way, made him want more of it all.

"Stay still, or we won't get anywhere, pumpkin," he said, and indeed you had forgotten about the candle by your side. You couldn't and wouldn't let it fall. He still sensed your scent so prominently on you, a lingering blend of sweat from the night before. Dry droplets adorned your panties, and a damp spot in the center was visibly apparent; it was adorable in his eyes. He kissed the area, gently brushing his nose against it, and you let out a graceful sigh. And once again, he found himself immersed in the feeling of having you like this, a sensation that was exclusively his. No one else had the privilege.

Unable to hold back any longer, Cillian pushed the thin fabric down and traced his tongue through you. He was familiar with it, but each time he tasted you, it fueled him with more energy. He didn't need to go too deep; you were already sticky enough, and yet clearly sensitive, a delightful mess nonetheless. Cillian pushed your swollen lips up, reaching your intended spot, and he licked it avidly. You gasped, your fists clenching the sheets. He blew on the spot and sucked on it for his own pure pleasure; he loved how the smell and taste lingered vividly in his mind afterward. However, he knew neither of you could last much longer in this way, and it wasn't how he wanted to end things.

He tightened his fingers on your thighs, using more of you, already feeling his chin and cheeks sticky from you. Reluctantly, he withdrew, mesmerized by how your essence still overflowed his mouth as he swallowed deeply, seeking oxygen. Your whimpering turned more pleading and disapproving, and he understood; he felt the same way, sore and neglected, begging for any hint of relief.

"I'm being good, Cill." Your eyes were wide open as you pleaded your case. He nodded, wiping the corners of his mouth with his fingers and still licking them to avoid any waste. It only quickened your breathing, and he felt a twinge of pity.

"You are, babygirl, you're being wonderful." He massaged his fingertips into you, spreading the burning sensation. You wouldn't be able to stay still even if you wanted to.

"You're okay, right?" he asked, pushing his fingers in slowly and deftly to fill you, watching your eyes squeeze shut tightly and your back arching a little.

"I am. I'd tell you if I weren't," you sounded weak, with sweat glistening on your forehead. It wasn't a very convincing vision, but Cillian trusted that you'd speak up if something was wrong. He moved his fingers until you got accustomed to the feeling and relaxed, making sure you wouldn't have any trouble taking him after. But you were so wet that he knew you could handle him easily even without much stretching. He made a mental note to try that later.

He pulled his fingers away, his hand sticky and wet from the excess that had dribbled, his mind taken by you, all the positions, and possibilities.

"No waste, remember?" You recalled something he had told you. Soon, your hands were around his wrist, and he didn't hesitate to let you take his fingers into your mouth, enveloping them and sucking on your sweet flavor, your eyes closing as he savored the sensation only he could describe. Your touch of sweetness and genuineness taking him over completely.

"Enough," he declared, pulling them away from you, leaving you with sad, pleading eyes. You could easily be death of him if you wanted.

You felt a bit hazy, things moving fast but still light, and surprisingly comforting after just waking up. You couldn't say when or how, but as you shifted slightly in bed and your eyes met his, he had already managed to shed his shorts. He was pulsating; he wouldn't last much longer, and you could tell he had held back for quite some time until then.

"I love how you look," he chuckled, smugness evident. His cheeks and the tip of his nose were flushed from the stress. His hair, with some strands of gray, fell over his face, and before you could brush it away, he held your arms again. You gasped, hesitating, and he forced your body onto the mattress, his weight and legs spreading yours apart. Lightly, he closed the gap between you, then settled inside you. As he had imagined, he slid in skillfully. Your head was thrown back, and you felt complete ecstasy just from finally having him after such a wait, even though it burned, and Cillian didn't feel much different.

His grunts were deep, and it made you even more flustered and messy for him. He rose, still dripping from your body, holding the candle holder. Even though he hadn't planned to tease since he was just as eager, he proceeded anyway. His hand rested on your waist, and without moving, he allowed you to ride him slowly with lazy thrusts to get what you wanted. You were shy, and your movements were as delicate as your body, adjusting to his as if you couldn't let him know. Soon he would be emptying himself inside you, deep, and that made him pant. In the meantime, he measured the droplets of wax over your belly and breasts, watching in awe as your body trembled from exhaustion.

Your moans were mostly breathless tones, and your mouth remained partially open. Your eyes never left him, of how his v-line joined yours as he filled you perfectly, until all the air left your lungs. He let a few drops fall on his own abdomen, grunting hoarsely at the warmth of him, and he smiled sweetly as your hips stopped their motion, and you focused solely on watching him.

Cillian paused, gently placing the candle holder back on the nightstand, and he tenderly turned you over onto your belly on the bed. You complied with grace, leaning forward to be closer to him, not holding back your affection. He cradled you, running his fingers through your hair, and his body welcomed yours against his chest. With utmost care, he joined with you, moving deep and fervently, his movements filled with passion, turning your whimpers into soft moans of pleasure.

The sight of you brought him immense joy, and he cherished the intimacy you shared. He was overwhelmed by the depth of his feelings for you, and he wanted nothing more than to fill you up warmly. He knew he had to be gentle, to ensure your comfort, and to respect your boundaries. Even more knowing you weren't used to that.

With each tender touch, he felt the connection between you both, savoring the moments of ecstasy that flowed between your bodies. He marveled at the depth of your trust in him, and he felt an overwhelming desire for more and more of you.

As he continued, he held you close, your hands seeking his to anchor you in the intensity of the experience. The room was filled with the sweet sounds of your pleasure, and he was enthralled by the way your body responded to his touch.

He adored every moment, every caress, and every gasp that escaped your lips. As your passion reached its peak, he held you tightly, ensuring you felt safe and into his arms. Your shared climax made him dizzy, leaving you both breathless and content.

Afterwards, he stroked your back, waist, and shoulders, reveling in the intimacy you had just shared. He admired the marks and traces left on your body.

"I treasure every moment with you," he whispered, his voice filled with adoration and a strong accent.

You smiled softly, feeling the warmth of him envelop you. His presence brought you comfort and peace, and you knew that you were deeply his.

With a caring touch, he wiped away the traces of passion from your lips, and you savored the lingering taste of him on your tongue.  You nestled even closer to him, and he let you, holding you tighter. You could still feel him oozing between your legs, the liquid turning cold, tingling a little from the soreness, but it felt great. You knew he would treat you like precious pearls, bathing you and leaving you clean before you went to sleep, and that was comforting.

"I'd never let a single drop go to waste," you said, your voice filled with sincerity. Your eyes are genuine and serene as you watch him, as if you really had no dimension to it. And then, you got filled into his solemn and comforting laughter at your fragile soul causing a pleasant vibration in your body.

...

His eyes opened as if breaking free from a suffocating hold, his head emerging above water, and oxygen flooding back into his lungs. Nevertheless, he remained still, feeling a warm weight on his shoulder and his pants suddenly tighter and less comfortable. Slowly, awareness seeped into his brain, and he became conscious of his surroundings. He felt a sense of worry, unable to move even if he wanted to. Gently, he brushed aside strands of hair from your face without touching your skin, observing how peacefully you rested against him, completely oblivious to his internal turmoil when it came to you.

He gazed at the ceiling, still wrapped in the comfort of your body's warmth against his own. Despite his mind being entangled with images of you, with your hand between your thighs and your cheek pressed against his shoulder, your lips slightly parted and looking so delicate and untouched, he couldn't bring himself to meet your eyes directly anymore. The once sweet thoughts now mingled with wilder and more fervent desires, a concoction of heated emotions that overwhelmed him. He felt like he wouldn't be able to endure all of it until the end. He already felt completely entangled and trapped.

As he lay there, he found himself torn between the conflicting emotions that had taken hold of him. The intensity of his feelings for you had reached a point where he couldn't contain them any longer. It was as if everything had shifted, and what was once a tender connection now burned with a passionate fire. He did desire you and that horrible way, but he had also fallen for you, and it frightened him.

The realization that he had developed such strong emotions for someone so close and yet so out of reach weighed heavily on him. He couldn't help but wonder what would happen if you ever found out, or worse, if he acted on those impulses. He wished he could go back to the simpler times, when he could bask in the innocence of your presence. But it was too late. He had crossed a threshold, and there was no turning back. The feelings were there, tangible and consuming.

On top of it all, the candles still exuded essence as they burned hot and bright before his field of vision.

[sturnsiolos0]

Never tired of-Matt Sturniolo

  Curled up on the sofa in the living room, you flick aimlessly through the same novel that you'd already read probably a thousand and one times, trying to focus on the plot that you knew would sweep you away to another world if only you would let it. But your attention is not focused on the pages, you cannot be captured by the printed words that you already knew like the back of your hand.

Instead, your mind keeps drifting to thoughts of your boyfriend, who had just recently returned home from a long day of filming and attending meetings, now sitting across from you scrolling mindlessly on his phone.

Your gaze would flicker up from the pages to skim his handsome profile, trace the sharp angles of his jaw and the contrasting fullness of his lips, before darting back down to read same the first line. Then back up again, you would study his dark lashes as they brushed his flushed cheeks every time he blinked. His sweatshirt having been discarded over the arm of the sofa a while ago now, you can't help but peek down at his bare arms.

As if reading your mind, he pauses to glance up at you, a curious smile on his face as he regards you staring at him from over the top of your book. "Are you alright..?"

"Of course. Just wondering how everything went?"

You nod with a soft murmur of acknowledgement as he explains what they recently discussed during the meetings.

"I think we'll finish it later though," He states moments afterward, and before you can reply, he continues, "I'm tired of going to all those though."

Matt shifts in his seat to give you his full, undivided attention. His eyes scan the book that your fingers were threatening to let go of in favour of tossing aside, and he lets out a quiet huff of amusement. "Speaking of tired, how are you not bored to death of that book yet? This has to be the hundredth time I've seen you with it."

Grinning, you finally close the worn novel and drop it onto the table with an over-dramatic sigh. "Some things you just don't get tired of."

Matt arches a single brow at your statement, casting his eyes about the room, before a smirk that is equal parts inquisitive and suggestive washes over his face. "Is that the only thing you don't get tired of, then?"

You allow a wicked smile to light up your face as you lean in towards him.

"Well, I can think of a couple of other things...For example..."

Without warning, you plant both hands on the cushion in between you and close the distance, launching yourself forward to capture his lips in a swift kiss. Pulling back after a moment, you find

Matt to be grinning, eyes crinkled and cheeks tinted scarlet at the sudden display of affection. His hands, warm and gentle, graze your own as they continue to prop you on his lap, before looping around your wrists and tugging softly; just enough to hint at wanting more.

"Yeah, I can agree with that example. That never gets old."

"What about you? What's something you don't get tired of?" You whisper, your traitorous gaze trickling down from his eyes to admire the plush curve of cupid's bow. His tongue darts out to skim his lip - you knew that he knew what he was doing - and your eyes flick up just in time to catch his own darting in the direction of his bedroom, his brows twitching up in a silent question that you immediately answer with another quick peck before pushing away and springing to your feet.

Matt grabs his sweatshirt with one hand and capturing your own hand in the other, your fingers intertwining instinctively as he nonchalantly makes his way out of the living room. When the two of you finally make it into his room, he drops his things onto the top of his desk in favor of pulling you close to his chest.

"Now, something I don't get tired of..." He murmurs, head tilting down as his lips ghost across your own; your fingers latch onto his arm, eager for more as your eyelids flutter shut. He indulges you with a deeper kiss, always so sweet and gentle with you, before pulling away, allowing a hushed whine to escape your swollen lips.

"That doesn't count," You huff breathlessly, "That's the exact same example I gave you."

Just like before, Matt is smiling down at you, though his eyes glint with an untamed excitement at the challenge as your fingers toy with the straps of his tank top taut across his broad shoulders. He hums quietly, as though pretending to think, before he loosens his grip and drops down to sit on the edge of his bed, patting the space beside him. Following his lead, you perch next to him, already leaning in to meet him halfway as he graces you with another indulgent kiss, although it only lasts a second before he's pulling away and slipping off of the bed to kneel before you.

He stares up at you earnestly as his gentle fingers slide up and down your calves, his touch like electricity despite the material barrier of your pants, and your breath catches in your throat as he leans closer.

"Okay, this is something I don't get tired of." Matt's  touch trails further up your legs, fingertips tickling the backs of your knees as he shifts his grip to allow his palms to completely cover your knees, where he pauses, the tips of his thumbs just daring to sneak higher up your legs. "May I?"

You nod dazedly at his question, and your fingers twist at the sheets as the anticipation of what was to come threatens to spill out of you. Heat pools deep within, and your breaths escape your parted lips in little pants; you bite at your lip, trying your hardest to regain control before he's even done anything, but the effect that Matt had over you was downright overwhelming to say the least.

Slowly, carefully, Matt's hands make their way up your thighs, his eyes latched on your own all the while. His fingers hook into the waistband of your pants and panties, and you can only lift your hips in compliance as he tugs them down, gently guiding them down your legs until he pauses at your ankles to slip your shoes off.

He sets them aside, doing the same with your panties, before returning his attention back to you, tender hands guiding you by the hips to the edge of the mattress before pausing and silently asking your permission once more.

"Please..."

His head bows at your whisper, lips trailing feather-light kisses across the tops of your thighs his hand snaking around to find purchase at the base of your spine, holding you steady in preparation. Your legs part of their own accord, thighs already sticky with your arousal, and you shudder as his breath ghosts over your exposed pussy.

Though Matt is unhurried in his actions, he is by no means a tease, and so you have no reason to beg for anything when his hot tongue finally slips between your soaked folds and languidly trails up to explore your trembling clit, his full lips finding purchase to give a firm suck before burying his face in your pussy. His nose nudges at your clit with every pass of his tongue, exploring your folds thoroughly, and your fingers find themselves weaving into his thick hair in a desperate attempt to ground yourself whilst you fight a losing battle against your heavy eyelids.

Matt continues to lap at your pussy, tongue laving at your core, before finally thrusting in. Your gasps grow to breathy moans, and then to desperate whimpers and stuttered cries. He introduces his fingers into the mix, deft fingertips trace mind-shattering circles around your desperate clit as his tongue explores your fluttering walls, before they would switch, and suddenly Matt's tongue was swirling around your clit whilst his long fingers were sliding deep within your pussy, settling on a pace that left you needing more yet felt as if you were experiencing all too much.

You don't quite know when your hips began to move, but now you're writhing against his face as he eats you out with a reckless abandon, his grip on your back tightening as he draws you closer still, fingers and tongue moving in tandem. Suddenly, the world seems to spark, and your orgasm tears through your body, fingers spasming in his hair and thighs trembling on either side of his face as you flood his mouth. Breathing feels like a distant memory, and you're vaguely aware of the fact that you're now laying on your back.

Blinking through the haze of your orgasm, you manage to lift your head far enough off of the bed to see Matt, hair a tousled mess and the entire lower half of his face glistening with your arousal, grinning up at you. He gets up from the floor to flop down on the bed beside you, legs dangling over the edge.

His lips are swollen and he seems to be just as out of breath as you, but he tilts his head and faces you to huff out, "I know I said I don't get tired of that, but it certainly tires me out."

"Well," You manage in between breathless giggles as you roll over to curl up into his awaiting arms, "There are definitely some other activities I can think of that have the same effect."

[readychilledwine]

Hi Liz! I have been following you for a while now and I absolutely adore everything you write. You are incredibly talented and deserve all praise for it ❤️

I have never actually requested a story from any author simply because I will devour almost any content by fanfic authors and truthfully it makes me feel a little greedy and I never want anyone to feel forced to write anything. However, I have had this idea since I read one of your stories and I feel like no one else would be able to do it justice like you would.

Essentially, the reader is the youngest Archeron sister and is mated to Azriel (mating bond has been accepted and they have been together for a couple of months now) but she is inexperienced (her first time was with Azriel) and Nesta has been giving her some of her hard core smutty books and now the reader wants to explore some kinks with Azriel (somnophilia, cock warming, wing play, bondage) but she’s embarrassed to bring up the conversation with him. Anyway, she eventually has that conversation with Azriel (he’s all too happy about it because no one can tell me this male doesn’t have a corruption kink) and smut ensues.

First of all, thank you for the endless compliments 💜💜 I'm so excited you're here and have welcomed me into your world for entertainment purposes.

Second of all, I could NEVER deny an Azriel corruption kink fic.

Breathe

Summary - A year of sexual exploration hasn't even began to touch the things Azriel would like to do to you.

Warnings - throat fucking, breath play, references to knife play, auralism, jealous Rhys and cassian at the end, mentions of other explored kinks and sexual senerios

Azriel pushed his fingers further unto your throat, his shadows forcing your hair back as he held your book in his free hand.

“I've been wondering why you've been sending me wave after wave of arousal all day,” he rose a brow a passage involving the male character using a knife to pleasure the female main. “Is this what my pretty little mate reads when I'm away? Her big sister's smut novels?”

He watched as you gagged, drool and spit coming to the corner of your mouth as you struggled to breathe and looked up at him doe eyed. “Want me to fuck you with Truth Teller, mate? Does the thought of coming on a deadly weapon soak your little lace panties?” He chuckled darkly. Mocking your inability to answer. 

“You're trained better than this, slut. You know to answer me when I ask you a question.” You whined around his fingers. You  could feel the tension in his body, feel his need for stress relief. 

The two of you had just began exploring physically together. The bond finally snapped after your 20th birthday. After the Mortal queen and the deathless God had been dealt with. After Elain finally let her claws out of him long enough for him to notice you. To feel you.

He had not pushed sex, knowing from Nesta you were the only one of the 4 of you to hold onto that seemingly special thing so tightly. It had taken a year for you to spread those pretty thighs and let him take you, but after that, you fucked like rabbits. Trying every dirty thing and kink your mind wanted to explore.

Azriel had allowed you to dominate him, whining as you rode his cock and denied him orgasm after orgasm, fingers dancing his scarred wings.

He had tied you from the ceiling his dungeon, harnessed up like a swing and fucked you to sweet oblivion.

He had taken every tight hole, came anywhere he could. Marked you in his scent and musk more times than you two could count.

But you were still his sweet innocent girl. 

His little untouched angel exploring your sexuality and urges like an animal in heat sometimes. Your recent needs were punishment. You liked him hurting you, dominating you, watching as you cried. You liked breath play lately, hence his fingers sinking deeper as you struggled, black beginning to form in your eyes until he took those fingers out and slapped you.

“Need you to suck my cock, princess,” he began unlacing his leathers, mind lost in the pleasure your mouth would bring him. “Open. Now.”

You obeyed, throat relaxing and mouth opening as his cock sprung free. Hard leaking and angry from weeks away from you. He pushed in without hesitation, setting a gentle pace as he tightened his grip in your hair.

“She couldn't breathe,” his deep voice began reading from the book, making you whine around his cock as he pushed it down your throat ensuring you couldn't either. “The feeling of the cold hilt in her warm walls causing her to feel wave after wave of shock and pleasure.”

He looked down at you, smirking at the sight of your flushed cheeks, at you swallowing around him as spit pooled the corners of your mouth. His eyes went back to the book. “There was something about the danger, the thrill of this deadly weapon being used to push her to the edge that had her crying out, begging and pleading for more and more as she met every thrust with her hips. Fucking herself harder and harder on her mate's weapon.”

You were aching, dripping for him, and tapped his thigh for a quick breath, watching as he pulled out and looked down at you unimpressed. You panted a few gulps of air before taking him back in your mouth and bobbing your head, hallowing your cheeks and licking each vein on his shift. 

Azriel groaned loudly above you, setting the book down before his now free hand joined the other one tangled in your now messy hair. He began fucking your throat harshly. Barely allowing you moments of air as he chased his much needed high. 

You could do nothing but hold on for life when he did this. When he lost control for you. He pushed all the way in, gagging you again and held you there, nose pressed against his skin. “Breathe,” he commanded in a moan. “Being such a good girl, y/n.” 

Throat fucking as new to you. An unexplored territory you hadn't even considered until he had asked gently. You knew it was more for him than for you, but right now you felt this sense of power as he moaned above you, wings shuttering as his body shivered. 

That power reached a deep set need in your bones, allowing you to relax and enjoy this more with a small moan. “There we go, angel,” he whispered. “Just like that for me. I'm so proud of you.” He began thrusting again, allowing you to hear his pleasure, allowing you to feel that power you had over him. “Keep breathing, baby,” his voice was almost a whimper. “Just keep breathing, I'm right there, y/n. Please honey.”

Him begging had you moaning against him, relaxing your throat further as your watched his breathing pick up, his plump lips part, his eyes scrunch. 

Without warning he pushed all the way in, spilling down your throat, as a roar tore through his own. He pulled back slightly, releasing the last of his cum onto your stuck out tongue with a satisfied smile. 

He kneeled down to you, shadows bringing him a notebook and pen and he wiped the small bits that hit your face off with his thumb before forcing you to suck that digit. 

He flipped through the notebook, a page dedicated to each sexual act and kink you two had explored with a rating and comments from both of you before landing on the page he needed and the adjoining blank one. 

“1 through 5?” He asked you gently, removing his thumb and kissing your forehead. 

“3.5,” you admitted with guilt. “I only enjoyed it because you do, and it made me feel slightly in control.”

He nodded, writing your response as you two both moved to sit cross-legged from each other on the floor. “Do not feel guilty. I am just happy it ranked high enough to be in the rotation. How about the reading to you thing?”

“4 out of 5. I enjoyed it a lot when you were doing that.” Azriel jotted it down.

“And what the fuck is going on in this novel? Do you want to try knife play?”

“Only with you,” you answered. 

Azriel leaned forward, kissing you gently. “It's one of my favorites. I've done it with a couple play partners. I can answer any questions you have.”

The two of you sat there, filling in a few more pages of the book you had started to keep during the beginning of your exploration a year ago, smiling at the things you've already done, going on your list of retries. 

Love was free flowing down the bond, soaking the room and fabric in it's scent, filling the Riverhouse with its presence with every passing moment. 

Rhys and Cassian sighed from downstairs, tapping their feet on the wooden floors as they waited for Azriel to come give them his mission report. 

“This happens every fucking time,” Cassian sat down on the couch. “Is it us? Is fatherhood killing our sex drive?”

Rhys shrugged. “I don't know what's killing your sex drive, brother. Mine is fine. Hince 3 little ones. If you could figure out what's keeping theirs so... passionate, though, I'd appreciate it.” 

[maluuustrawberry]

Undesirable encounter

(Claude Frollo X Female reader)

Synopsis: You were the new seamstress in Paris and Frollo suspects that you were harboring Romani in your shop. It looks like your first start was more tense than you expected...

A/n: I confess that I am in love with the Hunchback of Notre-Dame and I especially love the book. I hope you readers like it, and if you want to give me tips I accept (you can correct me too) If you want other Disney characters, you can ask me💕.

(Guys, I don't know if you know, but the word "gypsy" is a slur and should not be used, the correct one is "Roma" Or "Romani people" I put "Gypsy" only in Frollo's lines since you know the type of person he is.)

It was just another ordinary day in Paris, you had arrived in the city a few months ago and worked as a dressmaker. You immediately became known for the beautiful dresses you produced for the girls and the beautiful clothes for the boys too. You had an excellent aesthetic sense.

But what you had in the way of talent, you also had in the way of kindness. When you heard about the persecution of the Romani people, you felt touched by the situation and decided to help them. It was very risky, but you weren't going to stand by and let it happen like the other citizens of Paris were doing, letting themselves be manipulated by Frollo and his hate speeches. There was a basement in your house that you used to store fabric and sewing materials. You took advantage of that room to help some Romani hide in case of emergency if they were being chased by the guards and if there was no time to run to the court of miracles.

And so it went on, you were extremely careful not to leave any traces, until one day or another these "rumors" ended up reaching the judge.

You were sewing up the sleeves of a client's dress, which had been placed in the moulage to make it easier for you to work, and your attention now turned to the bell that rang as soon as the door was opened. Immediately, the atmosphere of the place changed when you saw who had entered. You knew those clothes, the face worn by age and you couldn't forget that look of superiority and pride, because himself thought he was important and better than everyone because of his opposition and faith. Looking behind those glass windows, you could also see some of his men at the front of the store:

“Bonjour, madame.” Frollo said sternly, snapping you out of your thoughts. That thick, authoritative voice gave you the creeps. “I'd like to know who owns this establishment. Your husband is here?”

“A-Ah! Good morning...” You forced a smile and stuck the needle into the moulage so you wouldn't lose it. “Your Honor, I'm the owner, and no, I don't have a husband.”

As you said this, the judge looked you up and down with contempt. Of course, in the 16th century, a young woman like you not being married was a disgrace to society, and on top of that, being able to read and owning your own business was even worse. You weren't tense or nervous with him in your store, on the contrary, you were so calm... After all, you cleaned out the basement and removed any evidence as soon as a family of Romani's moved out recently:

“I've received information that you've been harboring gypsies in your house and I'm here to find out the facts, have you been harboring gypsies?” He got straight to the point.

“No, sir.” You pretended to be as honest as possible, fortunately you were good at lying.

“You know that if you lie, the sentence for insubordination is death...” He moved closer in an attempt to intimidate her.

“My conscience is clear. You have permission to investigate my store, since my words don't apply to you.”

“If I wasn't allowed to, seamstress, I'd still make a point of searching this place from top to bottom, whether you agree or not.”

The older man signaled for some of his men to enter the store before you could protest or complain. Since you were the only one who seemed to have enough courage to go against the judge's ideas when you were right. They went in and started rummaging around for clues, looking everywhere, even under the skirts of the dresses on the mannequins.

Frollo looked you up and down in an nothing unobtrusive way, you didn't notice the glances, but as soon as you did, it gave you the creeps and you avoided looking back at him. He had never noticed you in the city before and he noticed your accent, deducing that you might be a foreigner. The judge couldn't take his eyes off you, you were a very beautiful woman and seemed so delicate, and it seems that some feeling awakened in him when he saw that you were without gloves and your dress showed your shoulders. He came out of his thoughts when a guard approached:

"Sir, we've looked everywhere and found nothing..." Being a clever woman, an idea came to your mind: perhaps it would be better if they looked at everything to leave you alone.

"Have you looked in my basement, gentlemen?" you asked, kicking the rug that hid the small door in the wooden floor of your store.

Frollo was suspicious, but sent his men in to search every corner of the small cellar. Fortunately, they didn't find anything either, just sewing materials and expensive fabrics. After looking around in vain, the men left the store, leaving you and the judge alone:

“I apologize for this inconvenience.” He said as you went to the moulage to finish the dress.

“You shouldn't believe every rumor out there, Your Honor, not all of them can be true.” You said politely. “but apologies accepted, I know it was for the good of Paris and you care a lot about the city.”

Returning to work, you thought he would leave after all that had happened and notice you "busy" sewing, but no, he stayed in the store while walking slowly around analyzing his surroundings:

“This basement...” He pointed to the carpet above the small door. “Why was it hidden?”

“I don't see the need to show everyone that I have a basement here.” You replied nonchalantly. “and besides, I think that old door would spoil the pretty look of my store.”

Frollo didn't seem to believe in that very much, but you shrugged and continued sewing. There were a few seconds of silence, you could only hear his footsteps coming towards you and could feel that man's gaze on you all the time, causing you a certain nervousness or fear. What did he want anyway?

“Do you want anything else?” you asked in an attempt to break the silence and take your mind off the discomfort of feeling his gaze on you, stopping your sewing and looking at him now.

“I just want you to know.” He said, standing close and looking at her with disgust. “I'll keep an eye on you, I won't trust a literate, single woman so easily... I know women of your kind.”

“I don't think who I am or what I do has anything to do with helping... Ouch!” You interrupted yourself with pain when you felt the needle pierce your finger. It was normal for this to happen when were working with sewing, but it had never been this deep, Maybe it happened because of the anger you was feeling at that moment.

Immediately you dropped the needle out of sheer instinct, and in a quick and daring moment Frollo grabbed your hand with a certain amount of force, bringing it in front of his face, which had a small smile of satisfaction on it. The judge was a sadomasochist, he enjoyed seeing someone in pain, especially when it was someone he thought deserved such a punishment. You were shocked by his attitude, you weren't expecting it and didn't know how to react. What was he doing? Frollo continued to hold your hand, watching the small drop of blood ooze from your pricked finger, but his attention wasn't just there, it was on your fingers, your soft skin and the sensation it brought when you touched it with the contact of the warm hand and his, which was a little cold:

“What are you doing?” You asked, with a bit of hatred for such a vulgar and daring attitude, and he laughed a little.

“What would the church think of a woman exposing her bare hands in front of a high-ranking man like me?” You had no reaction for fear. Gradually his fingers entwined in yours and you saw that his eyes went to your small cleavage and your bare shoulders. “And it's not just your hands that are exposed...”

You quickly pulled your hand free and he looked at you incredulously:

“My hands are only exposed because I can't wear gloves when I sew, and you still don't have the right to do that. It's in the Bible; If your eye or your hand causes you to sin, throw it away!” A small smile came to Frollo's face when he heard that.

“So bold... It's typical of women like you to turn away from guilt in order to confuse men's minds with pagan thoughts, but that doesn't matter any more...”

He walked away, heading for the door to leave, but first his attention turned to you:

“It was a nice chat, seamstress... I want you to make me a cloak and sew me a pair of gloves, I'll be expecting you to deliver them tomorrow night.”

After saying that, he left, leaving you with no reaction to what had just happened. You were angry, but at the same time relieved that he hadn't found out. As soon as he left, you stared at your hand, which he touched and intertwined with his large, thin fingers. You'd have to be more careful now, he'd be stalking you and the reason wouldn't just be because he suspected you of helping the Romani people, it would be because of something else and you know exactly what it was and what his intentions were...

End...

[dduane]

Hey! Just wanted to drop in and let you know that my Star Trek Book Club is reading our way though Spock’s World right now! I love the Horta crewmember so much. Would be cool to hear any thoughts you have on the book, as its writer!

Sure!

Work on the book started while @petermorwood and I were still roaming around the UK, trying to figure out where we wanted to live.

It was around then that Pocket Books decided that the success of their first Star Trek novels as paperbacks suggested they might want to try a hardcover and see how it went. Up until that point I'd written three Trek novels for them—The Wounded Sky and My Enemy, My Ally, and with Peter, The Romulan Way—and as far as I can tell, a combination of strong sales figures and very positive reviews led the editors at Pocket to choose me to do the first hardcover.

(Adding a cut here, because this runs longish. Caution: contains severe weather, peripatetic writers, [offstage] Highland cattle, and [because hindsight is always 20/20...] author idiocy.)

If I remember correctly, the go-to-hardcover decision was made in 1987. The book's outlining would have happened in the winter of that year, while we were staying in Scotland: the post over here talks about that a littie.

Not very long after that we made our where-to-live decision, headed to Ireland, and moved into a little rented terrace house in north county Wicklow, not far from Annie McCaffrey's place. Once we were installed there, I started work on the first draft of Spock's World.

This, though, is where a tragedy almost occurred.

Electric-power infrastructure can sometimes be an issue in rural areas of Ireland. And one night, in the middle of a thunderstorm, the post-top transformer nearest us in our little housing estate was struck by lightning. The ensuing power surge (or just possibly an EMP associated with it: jury's still out...) fried my computer.

Fortunately, most of my working disks were okay. But the last 40K+ words of the novel survived only in fragmentary form... and when I tried to reassemble those chapters from the backups, I discovered that the backups were corrupt. And the book was due at the publisher—by which I mean printed and FedExed to NY: no one was equipped back then to deal with emailed manuscript files—in two weeks.

Needless to say, things around the house then got a bit frantic. I wound up having to completely rewrite nearly the entire back half of the book from memory, as I did not have a printout. (So you'll understand that for the last few decades, hard copy [or PDFs] and backups, and backups of backups, have become something of an obsession for me. These days I use Backblaze, with which I'm extremely pleased: it runs constantly in the background, updating things in realtime as you do, and has numerous smart ways to recover your material if you need it.)

At any rate, my memory's fortunately fairly good for material I've just recently written. And I have to say that in retrospect this whole escapade may have been a blessing in disguise... as I strongly believe that the rewritten material was significantly better than in the draft that would originally have gone to the publisher. The printout went to the publisher just in time to hit that particular production deadline. The only thing really messed up in the aftermath was my back, which gave me grief for months afterward. My advice on this count: never write 40K+ words in two weeks in a straight-backed chair. :/

Anyway, there was a happy ending when the book came out: it spent eight weeks on the Times list, which was nice. (In pretty good company, too...) :)

And shortly Pocket asked me to do another hardcover. So that was nice too.

Anyway, that's the tale.

Hope this has helped! And give the book club my best. :)

[sing-you-fools]

being a Discworld fan honestly should be, like, the #1 book recommending a person sort of things, and i hate that it's not because so many of his fans get it so wrong. like. i try not to get incensed about people being wrong on the internet, but how anyone reads these books and thinks this man was a bigot, thinks the representation he put in Discworld was at the expense of those represented, like. like. i'm furious about it. every time. especially as he continued to learn and grow both as a writer and as a person. even stuff that was originally meant to be a little silly, like a female dwarf, he found meant a lot to people, and he learned how to better include that story!

(spoilers ahead for Shepherd's Crown)

he leaned into it in the most loving and respectful way. fucking READ The Shepherd's Crown!!!!! the man found out trans women identified with his character so he learned how to represent them! and then, he wrote Jackrum! AND THEN HE WROTE GEOFFREY!!!!! with his last fucking book he gave us a character who says he doesn't really feel like a man or a woman, just himself, fucking ages before anyone else was writing nonbinary characters! AND HE PUT HIM IN GRANNY WEATHERWAX'S FUCKING COTTAGE Y'ALL! LIKE HAVE YOU THOUGHT ABOUT WHAT THAT MEANS BECAUSE I HAVE SOBBED SO FUCKING MUCH ABOUT IT! (Note that obviously Geoffrey doesn't have/use different language for himself, but that's how he feels and pronouns are not gender.)

thanks to how he handled Cheery and how he went from there, Pratchett included trans representation for ALL of us SO SO SO SO SO LONG before we were on anyone else's radar, and it's honestly so much more respectful than some of the stuff i've seen out there more recently!!!!!

he wasn't perfect, and a lot of social standards have evolved since the earlier Discworld books especially, but he always kept an open mind and listened and tried and grew. and there are people out there insisting he would be this hateful bigot!!!!! i hate them!!!!! let me hire the fucking assassin's guild!!!!!

[six-eyed-samurai]

SUMMARY: A letter from Urokondaki has Giyuu flying back - not knowing he'd wind up back to you who he loves and rejected. A/N: This is possibly the most cliche thing I've written about but enjoy the twist WARNINGS: Reader is female and has a sister because I said so. TAGLIST: (lemme know if you wanna be removed or added): @abadonkori @therabbitthatpostthings MASTERLIST/PREVIOUS FICS

What were you both, exactly? This one Giyuu couldn't answer, because as cliché as it sounded he didn't know.

What were you? This was something Giyuu could answer, although he'd never tell you…or anyone. It was cliché, but you were an absolute goddess he was head over heels with and if he could worship you day in day out, he would. It was cliché, but he wanted to be the one you first set those bright doe eyes on every day, the first you head to when you were hurting emotionally or physically - your first love and he fantasized about being your last.

(A lot more than he should be, Giyuu realized, when Kocho caught him staring off into space and smiling a little too “lovesick-y”, she claimed, and asked who was he so down bad for.)

How you both met sounded like something out of a romance novel too. A romance novel in an ugly world of death and demons, true, but just as romantic and cliché as any story. He had been sent to go help a group of slayers faced with an adversary far beyond their level and when he had arrived it was an utter disaster of blood left, right and center.

Giyuu had made quick work of the demon and turned to check on the exhausted, collapsed slayers. He had been told there were six, so why were there only five?

“Tomioka-san! (y/l/n) ran off to go fight the other demon, where is she?” Other demon? Giyuu whipped around to go after-

And then you arrived, like some goddess of the hunt, leaping from the air and decapitating the lunging demon's head right before its talons could touch him. His eyes widened.

How did you still smile so brightly, like you were genuinely delighted he was here, despite being splattered in blood and bruises? Maybe that was one of the things that made him fall from the start. “Oh, hey, Tomioka-san! You're finally here!”

That should've been that. Giyuu would've been content with that mental snapshot of you in all your heroic glory forever.

But out of the blue you once again showed up suddenly, abruptly, at his Estate with a bento box and persistent knocking at his door.

“Tomioka-san! Are you home? I really wanted to thank you for saving us that day, so I brought you some food. I hope you like it!”

You had saved him, why were you thanking him? Giyuu was too stunned to do anything but let you in and just gape, completely unaware this wouldn't be the first time you would barge in and liven up his pathetic lonely life.

He had assumed you would leave the moment he collected the bento, but…no? You just sat there and chatted away about anything and everything that came to your mind: a recent book you read, the bout of rain lately, demon activity, training, your family. You pushed him to talk about himself too and he found himself opening up subconsciously, heavily infected by your energy - his favourite meal so you could make it next time, something he'd like to do in the future, any hobbies? Giyuu thought you probably knew a lot more about him than the rest of the Hashira after just that one meal.

“Well, it's been nice eating with you - oh no, is your haori torn?”

“…yes. It was from the fight but I hadn't had time to fix it yet.”

“Ehhhh, no worries about that! I'm not too bad at sewing and I'm sure you're very busy, so I could do it for you if you'd like.”

Then it went on for months, a push and pull from the both of you coming up with various excuses to see each other beyond brief lunches. Mostly you suggesting them, true, but he'd be lying if he said he hadn't jumped on them as eagerly as a puppy, embarrassingly. You returned with his repaired haori and to thank you he bought the next meal, then you asked for some slaying tips and he awkwardly realized the only way he could explain properly was through practical work, then you brought him salmon daikon for the extra training. So on and so forth.

Even if he had tried to push you away, you were too stupidly stubborn and kept coming like some train of friendliness; something he fell a little more for, other than your care for even the most useless of slayers, your determination to keep training no matter what, your quiet reassurance when grief still clouded his days…no amount of paper in the world could cover all the things he loved about you.

It went on for so long that Giyuu could call you the highlight of his days - his friend. His only friend, not counting Kocho (she doesn't count).

But he suddenly knew when he wanted to be more than that when he apologized for not being as talkative. You blinked, then laughed. “Don’t be! I like challenging myself to get a reaction out of you!”

The corner of his lip half turned up. “What reaction?”

“Y’know, when you smile like that. It’s cute to watch.”

“I’m not smiling.” His face heated up and he busied himself with slurping up the rest of his soba.

“Or when you blush like that,” you added. Giyuu nearly fell into the soup as you laughed.

Luckily he didn’t, but he fell for you even harder.

It was just as cliche then, when it was abruptly at some point Giyuu realized he had no idea whatever it was the two of you were. “Friends” sounded a little too dishonest - did friends turn up in the middle of the night because they couldn’t sleep and decide to stargaze together? Did friends somehow wind up holding hands and falling asleep against each other during said night?

Did friends rush to say goodbye to other before missions and fret so worriedly about their safety? Did friends get flustered so much around each other? Did friends get teased by Kocho, giggled at by Kanroji, be asked when the two of them had started dating by Kamado?

No. Giyuu didn’t have much experience in this but he knew that every day it was getting harder for him not to simply blurt out those eight letters to you.

The problem wasn’t that he thought he was going to get rejected - Giyuu wasn’t as obliviously blind as everyone thought, he’d seen the way you glanced at him to see if he found the joke funny, the extra effort you threw in for his bento when cooking for everyone. He held back because he was afraid. Terrified the moment he’d ask to be yours the gods who had tormented him for so long would awaken and strike you down. He was cursed, jinxed, hexed to never have anyone he cherished, not when the list was so extensive - Sabito, Tsutako. If he were to ever allow you to get close to him he’d just have another grave to cry over.

Giyuu knew he’d have to break it to you one day but he’d never thought it’d be so soon.

“Hey…Giyuu.” You tugged at your hair nervously, something he found endearing. He nodded in acknowledgement. “I…this is so silly and cliched, really, saying something like this under -” you breathed an anxious laugh “-a sakura tree under the moon, but…I think I really like you. Beyond just friends. I’ve never looked at anyone like I do at you before and some days I think I’m going to have to go to Kocho because my heart’s beating at an unhealthily fast rate around you. I - you don’t have to feel the same, but I hope you’ll accept my confession. It’s cliche, like I said, but there’s no one else I want to spend my life with, however short in the Corps.”

“(y/n)…”

You looked at him hopefully and he looked at you blankly. You weren’t to know how hard he was going to cry over this later on.

“I apologize, but I don’t feel the same.”

If he couldn’t push you away, he’d pull away, with distance and the silent treatment. Giyuu never realized how different the both of your worlds were until he made the effort to avoid you at all costs. They spun on different axis, and if you didn’t seek him out or he didn’t go to find you, you both would never run into each other at all.

For the best, right? For your own good.

***

It was hopeless.

You tried and tried to go on being friends but Giyuu didn’t make it easy for you at all. He trained all day to use it as an excuse for being too busy and reject all your invitations. He politely informed you you could stop cooking for him as to not trouble yourself. You were going to break yourself into a million, emotionally shattered pieces if you continued to chase after someone who didn’t want you, you knew, but it was Giyuu, for god’s sakes. You both had poured so much into your friendship, how could you just leave it be?

A small voice still nagged that you were just hung up on him and that he was the one being mature about this whole affair, which led you to finally decide to take a break away from everything for a while and head back to your hometown - your sister had been begging you for a visit for some time. But you still wanted to make the effort, so you wrote to Giyuu that you’d be away from the Corps for maybe a fortnight.

He made a curt reply barely lasting a paragraph and that was that. You balled it up and threw it into the trash, restraining the tears that were going to spill, then resumed packing.

Heading home was the break you had needed after all. Meeting your old village friends and catching up on the times, recounting childhood memories with the people you used to know. After spending so long running around from village to town to slay demons it was just…relieving to set your bags down in your old home and finally have a place to return to again. Your mother and great uncle were beyond delighted you had returned home and needless to say you were coddled and spoiled and stuffed with homecooked meals. Even the chores that once seemed exhausting were nothing to the brutal training you had gone through - absolute bliss, really.

They took your mind off your recent rejection.

Yet somehow your younger sister Yumiko wormed it out of you anyway as you both sat under the giant tree you both used to spend countless days frolicking under when you were kids, watching her grow even more flustered the more you teasingly pushed her about her love life.

“Come on, I’m your big sis, I need to know who’s caught your eye!”

“No, we’re nothing official - he - hey! Sto - oh - op tickling me! Fi - fine, I”ll - heh - tell!”

You sat back, satisfied. “Well?”

“His name’s Sanekhiro…” Yumiko got a little dreamy-eyed. “He’s really clumsy and forgetful, but really sweet! He got me this hairpin the other day; he said it reminded him of me and had been saving up money to buy it.”

Your hand unconsciously reached up to finger your own hairpin - the one Giyuu had gotten you not too long ago. He’d been so funny about gifting it to you, nudging it closer and closer to your soba bowl until you noticed it and asked. Maybe he panicked, maybe he was trying to be cool, but he blanked for a moment before saying “Oh, isn’t this yours?”

The corner of your mouth twitched. It was a very cute memory…although all he did now was walk past you like you were a ghost he couldn’t see.

(If only you knew how Giyuu feared you really would become one.)

“- and then we…nee-san? Are you even listening?” Yumiko pushed her head closer to yours, snapping you out of your daydream. She grinned mischievously. “Who are you thinking of?”

“Eh, no one!”

“Where’d you get that hairpin, then?”

Damn Yumiko and her observant nature. But even she couldn’t have foresaw you suddenly bursting into tears, the heartbreak and hurt you’ve been suffering silently through the past few weeks building up like pressure until it exploded and you were left a sobbing, miserable mess curled up on your sister’s lap while she stroked your hair comfortingly and waited for you to calm down and tell her who’s “head I’m going to cut off - he must be a demon to make you cry like this”.

So you told her everything, ending it with a “He doesn’t even want to be my friend anymore! Giyuu won’t even acknowledge me now.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t hate you, nee-san, don’t think that!”

You cried anyway.

***

Giyuu had been taking on a lot of missions lately - he barely spent a day of rest in between, Shinobu had confided in Mitsuri as they both watched the stoic Water Pillar limp out of the Butterfly Mansion from afar, no doubt off to go ask Oyakata-sama for another.

Something had happened, Shinobu had concluded, citing that Giyuu had been even more sour-faced and gloomy lately - “Well, even more than he used to be. I wonder if he failed to save someone on a mission? That might be it. I would ask his friend but I haven’t seen her around.”

Mitsuri immediately lit up. “What friend?”

“He used to eat with a female slayer every day until recently; I don’t know her name or who she is though. Tomioka somehow managed to make a friend even with that wet cat personality of his, but as I haven’t seen her around much.” Shinobu chuckled to herself. “He probably drove her away with that despondent attitude.”

“Hmm…” Mitsuri considered it, then clapped her hands together excitedly. “He must like her, Shinobu! Oooh, that’s so sweet, I never thought Tomioka would ever fall in love!”

“Him? In love?” Shinobu scoffed. “If he is then I am an insect.”

“Maybe he’s just sad she had to go on a mission or something,” Mitsuri suggested. “Oh, I know! I’ll invite him out to lunch with me and Obanai. That should cheer him up, and I want to know all the tea about his love life!”

Shinobu hid her laugh and turned around to leave. “I wish you the best of luck, Mitsuri.”

“I’ll let you know how it goes!”

With that Mitsuri sprang off to go hunt for the elusive Water Pillar, determined to kidnap him to lunch if it came down to it. Obanai would surely approve of her plan, he probably wouldn’t mind someone extra tagging along if she apologized.

It turned out she didn’t quite have to kidnap him, but it would be stretching the truth to say Giyuu had given a response to her question, having just stared blankly with wide eyes. But he didn’t object when she grabbed his hand and pulled him along, so it must be alright!

(Obliviously the both of them didn’t notice the purple, shadowy waves of indignation and jealousy rolling off the Snake Pillar, but he managed to bottle it up pretty well in front of Mitsuri.)

“So, Giyuu, I heard from Shinobu you’ve been hanging out with a slayer these days! Is it true?”

“Uh…yes…” Yes, a slayer who I fell in love with and promptly rejected when she said she reciprocated, Giyuu finished in his head. Obanai glowered.

“KYAAAH! That’s so cute! What’s her name? What’s she like? How long has she been a slayer? When did you both meet? Do you like her?” Mitsuri leaned forward, practically quivering from anticipation. Next to her a certain snake brightened up not so subtly; Tomioka wasn’t going to steal Kanroji after all! …not that he believed someone like Tomioka would, nope.

Giyuu’s mind was stuck on the last question.

Do you like her?

Cliche, but he didn’t like her. He loved her. Which was why he let her go, right?

But Giyuu was tired. Tired of never being able to be happy, always mourning Sabito and Tsutako. You made him like he might one day see the world in vibrant colors once more, but he was so afraid of never seeing again he’d rather never see it all. You liked him despite his bland, hard personality. Of course he was a sucker for you, absolutely down bad, whipped, whatever it was that Tanjiro had used to describe the blond nuisance’s behavior towards Nezuko.

But on these past missions…all those couples he had seen wandering the streets together hand in hand. You both used to do that - well, almost, if hands brushing hands counted (on idle days he tried to clasp his own and imagine what your touch would feel like). He wanted to be that couple with you. He wanted to be that family he had saved not too long ago, comforting each other despite the demon attack. He wanted to be that elderly duo at the table next to them, still together even after who knew how many years.

Iguro and Kanroji had only added on to it. Giyuu knew Iguro disliked him intensely and in turn he had not much love for him but watching his actions around Kanroji made him miss you terribly - he had that same look Giyuu was pretty sure he had on his face whenever he spoke to her…if only because you had pointed it out to him once. And when Kanroji started gushing about how happy she always felt whenever she received a letter from Iguro…how long had it been since you sent that short letter informing him of your vacation to your hometown (and subsequent abandonment of him? …he did deserve it, he’d admit, but it stung anyway).

Can’t he be allowed to be happy for once? Be in love once? He wouldn’t be able to take it if you died…yet Giyuu couldn’t take it either if you weren’t here. What a conundrum…

“Tomioka?” ”What’s so great about being in love?” He blurted. He had to be sure. Obanai snorted but Mitsuri, though taken aback, eagerly replied, just not what he’d thought she’d reply with.

“That’s something you’ll have to find out yourself, I suppose! Maybe you’re afraid of pursuing it - her - for now, Tomioka, but you should be more afraid of not finding out no matter what happens. Go ahead, shoot your shot!”

“I need to go.” Giyuu stood up abruptly and ran off.

“-eh?” Mitsuri stared after him, startled, then slumped a little. “Aw, guess he didn’t want to have lunch with us.”

Obanai would rather have Kaburamaru strangle him then defend Giyuu, but if it was to cheer Mitsuri up…”I think you just spurred him to go confess to the poor sod he’s besotted with. Maybe he’ll be less sloppy on missions now.”

“You really think that? I’m happy my advice came in handy then, heh!” Mitsuri beamed at him.

“Mmm,” Obanai hummed, averting his eyes. “Do you want another bowl? I’ll pay.”

***

Giyuu had a plan. A really good one, if he could say so himself. He’d go find you and explain, apologize for how horribly he’d been treating you and pray to whatever gods left on his side that you’d find it in you to forgive him and give him a chance to love you like he didn’t before.

A plan that evaporated the moment he got back to his Estate and realized not once had you mentioned where your hometown was.

Giyuu sat on the engawa for nearly the whole evening, trying to recall if you’d ever said anything about your childhood home. He knew you had a sister and your father had died a few years ago, but that was about it. Crap. Thwarted by the crime of not knowing you as well as he had thought.

(He assuaged the nagging little voice saying how could he even hope to be your lover if he didn’t know such a simple thing by promising to get to know everything about you when he found you, right down to what you ate for breakfast.)

As a desperate last resort he sent his old crow Kanzaburo to go scout villages up north, where your letter had come from - not expecting him to return the next morning squawking himself hoarse.

“UROKONDAKI INJURED! GO TO ASAGIRI NOW! UROKONDAKI INJURED!”

Double crap. His search for you would have to wait then; Giyuu would be there in a heartbeat at his old mentor’s side if he could, but as he couldn’t he took off running at once.

Although…strange his crow went to Urokondaki instead of you.

***

Yumiko glanced back at where you lay, silent but inhaling through your teeth painfully. She and your great-uncle had done all they could to alleviate the pain in your broken ankle. The rain from a few days ago hadn’t completely dried up and left the mountain a slippery mud mountain, causing you to accidentally lose your balance and roll down. You were lucky nothing else had happened.

And the mountain wasn’t done causing trouble yet. Your mother had long gone out to go fetch a doctor but with the trails slick and blocked it would take a long, roundabout route for two elderlies. You were handling it well, but with every minute that passed Yumiko verged on a panic attack.

Then that stupid crow had shown up, screeching and cawing at the window. Yumiko narrowed her eyes and approached it, intending to chase it away with a piece of her mind for disturbing you until - oh god, it could talk.

“Tomioka looking for (y/l/n)! Tomioka looking for (y/l/n)!”

Tomioka? Wasn’t that the name of the man you had cried yourself over, the one that had broken your heart so bitterly? What right did he have to come looking for you now? Yumiko scowled. She was going to give him something to look for alright.

Then you groaned and it gave her pause. You had talked about the insane skills of a Hashira before - this good-for-nothing Tomioka would be able to arrive far faster and navigate the dangerous paths easily. Surely Hashira would have some basic first aid knowledge too? He could bring you down to the village, if nothing else. Fine.

“Yumiko! What are you doing?” Your great-uncle appeared behind her, voice laced with worry.

“This crow belongs to a Hashira, a friend of (y/n) or something - we could get him to come here and help bring nee-san to the village. Even if the doctor got here they’d never be able to bring her down!”

His face betrayed nothing, but he nodded and turned to the preening bird. “Kanzaburo, tell Giyuu to come to Mount Asagiri now. A message from Sakonji Urokondaki.”

***

Giyuu made it up the mountain in record time.

He rushed to the old house where he had spent his childhood training with Sabito, opening the doors in a hurry. Of course, if Urokondaki had gotten injured outside, he should go look-

“You!” The both of your mouths dropped open and uttered the same word in the same shock.

“I - (y/n)? What are you - what are you doing here?”

“What are you doing here?” You countered. Giyuu’s eyes were wide as saucers and you had no doubt yours was the same.

“My crow told me Urokondaki was injured -” Wait, but you were clearly the one injured here: pale face and horrible bruising on your foot. And his crow was old, not unknown for getting messages mixed up. But if so, that meant - “You never told me you were an Urokondaki.”

“He’s my great-uncle. You’re the one he trained?” How did your brain never make the connection before between Giyuu and the boy from your great uncle’s training back then? For that matter how did you both somehow never mention it?

“And you’re only here to get nee-san down to the village to get treated!” Yumiko darted into the room, hostile and clearly mistrustful. “She broke her ankle and we can’t get her down, so if you want to make up for making her cry over you every day you’ll do something about it!”

Your face burned at your sister’s words but Giyuu felt like somebody had stabbed a katana into his heart. Had you really? He felt like a horrible person. An actual demon. He should probably commit seppuku right now for making an angel like you weep - one thing at a time, he had to help you now.

Without a word Giyuu suddenly scooped you up in his arms, pressing you close to him and carefully adjusting his hold so that it was both tight and comfortable before making his speedy (and hopefully safe) way down the mountain. There would be a time to confess what he’d been holding back all along another time.

Yumiko watched from the doorway skeptically. “Is this really who nee-san fell for? He already broke her heart once. What’s to say he won’t do it again?”

Urokondaki stepped out from the shadows, observing the retreating form of his former student. He laid a hand on Yumiko’s shoulder. “I’m sure Giyuu won’t.”

***

“Why’d you come back?”

“…maybe we should talk when you’re not in pain.”

“Giyuu, I’ve got enough painkiller potions and herbs and things inside of me to subdue Muzan himself. Just - if you’re not going to tell me, don’t - don’t give me false hope.” You rolled onto your side, away from him, so he couldn’t see your expression.

“Do - do you want real hope then?” Giyuu said weakly.

“What?” You twisted your head around slightly.

“I -” Giyuu half smiled, half winced awkwardly. “I think I fell for you from the start. I just didn’t know it until later. I don’t have a lot of friends and I thought after that lunch we had together you’d be driven off too, but you kept coming back. Again and again. You just - invaded my brain and I couldn’t do a thing without you on my mind.”

At least you turned around fully now, even sitting up. “Go on.”

“But…you know what happened to Sabito, my sister. I was so afraid - so afraid the one bright thing in my life would get taken away because…I know I don’t deserve you. Or even worthy of you. I was even more afraid that you’d die because I wasn’t there, or I wasn’t strong enough.”

“Giyuu-”

“Then you told me you liked me and - maybe we both could’ve been happy, but I couldn’t…I couldn’t bear it if you died. You were too close. I’m not supposed to be happy. I’m so, so sorry I pushed you away like that so cruelly, but I didn’t know how else.”

“What made you change your mind, then?” Giyuu had never spoken so much before. Your fingers crept closer and laid on his.

“…I’m not sure, honestly. Kanroji, probably. I just saw everyone and I wanted…I wanted to hold your hand and go walking. I want to get married with you and…whatever married people do. And then if we don’t get killed by demons I want to grow old with you - no, no! Wait, don’t cry!”

Giyuu leaned forward, hastily wiping roughly at your cheeks. You hiccupped but giggled. “Don’t worry, I’m just - you always surprise me and I think I’m so happy I could actually explode.”

“Please don’t.”

“That’s not the end of your big speech is it?” Your hand closed around the one cupping your face.

“No,” Giyuu admitted. “One more.”

“And…?”

“Cliche, but I think I love you.”

“Let me make it more cliche.”

You grabbed his face and kissed him.

***

BONUS:

“And your dad and I lived happily ever after!”

“Waaaah! That’s so rom - rom -ah -tic!” Your younger daughter, Sumire clapped her hands and giggled, snuggling closer into Giyuu. “I wanna be like that when I grow up!”

“Ew. You kissed after saying that?” Koji rolled his eyes, throwing the pillow he had been hugging down. You snorted and yanked at his black hair playfully.

“Why, don’t like that?”

“Maybe he thinks girls still have cooties,” Giyuu offered, poking Sumire’s chubby cheeks.

“Do not! I just meant - argh! Dad, why didn’t you kiss Mom? That’s not manly at all!”

You broke into a peal of laughter at both Koji’s words and Giyuu’s face. Sumire joined you but stopped when she noticed her dad hiding his pink face. “Who taught you what was manly?”

“Uncle Nemi!”

Giyuu looked at you beseechingly. “I told you we shouldn’t have visited Shinazugawa.”