#(you read j like y in polish)

[walkinaroundtheuniverse]

... How do you read Jord?

Is the J like y in yellow?

[chasingyuyu]

To Light a Candle - J. YH

Masterlist

Featuring Jeong Yunho as father!stefano

Title : To Light a Candle

Year : 1937

Location : Bologna, Italy

Word Count ~ 9.8k

Genre : drama, romance

Pairing : father!stefano x atheist!reader

Summary : Y/N, an atheist woman hardened by life’s hardships and disillusioned by love, doesn’t believe in fairytales or happy endings. The universe seems to mock her when she stumbles upon Father Stefano, a young Catholic priest whose unwavering faith and compassion are everything she’s spent years rejecting. As their paths cross, the tension between her cynicism and his gentle belief grows, Y/N's life taking an unexpected turn.

Warnings : anxiety and mental health struggles, religion and faith conflicts, past trauma, themes of self-worth and identity, slow-burn romance with emotional tension.

Notes : This work is not read proof. Requests are open. Hope you enjoy!

The rain hit the cobblestones like applause, steady, relentless, drowning out the noise of the world. Y/N’s shoes squelched with every step, her coat soaked through to the bone as she staggered down the narrow alleyways of Bologna. She didn’t care where she was going. The streets all looked the same in this city–gray, ancient, indifferent.

She stopped in front of a pair of massive wooden doors, the intricate carvings half-hidden by the shadows of the night. A church. Of course. The universe had a sick sense of humor.

Y/N hated churches. She hated the smell of incense, the cold judgment of the marble saints, the way the silence pressed on her ears like a vice. And yet, as the rain showed no signs of letting up, she muttered a curse under her breath and shoved the door open.

It creaked like a beast stirring from sleep, echoing through the cavernous interior. The scent of wax and damp stone hit her first, followed by the flicker of candlelight that painted the walls with a golden hue. Y/N paused, dripping on the polished floor, glaring at the crucifix as if daring it to strike her down.

“You’re late for Mass.”

The voice came from somewhere to her left, low, warm, with the faintest hint of amusement. She turned sharply, her wet hair plastering itself across her cheek, to find a man in a black cassock standing by the pews. He wasn’t what she expected. Too young to be a priest, she thought. Or maybe just not tired enough.

“I’m not here for Mass.” She snapped, her voice sharp enough to cut through the quiet. “And you don’t need to tell me I don’t belong here. I already know.”

He raised an eyebrow, stepping closer, his shoes making soft thuds against the stone. “This isn’t a nightclub, signorina. You don’t need a membership card to enter.”

She let out a hollow laugh, the sound ricocheting off the high ceilings. “Well, aren’t you a modern priest? What’s next, a cocktail hour after confession?”

“Not a bad idea.” He said lightly, though his eyes studied her carefully. She was trembling, whether from the cold or something deeper, he couldn’t tell. “But I’d still prefer to know why you’re here.”

“Because it���s raining!” Y/N shot back, wrapping her arms tightly around herself. “And I needed a roof. Happy?”

His lips curved into something resembling a smile, but it wasn’t patronizing. It was soft, patient, like he was letting her win a game he wasn’t interested in playing. “The rain has a way of leading people to unexpected places.” He said. “I’m Father Stefano, by the way. And you are?”

“Leaving.” The girl replied, though her feet remained planted. Her defiance faltered as her eyes darted to the flickering candles. For a moment, her expression cracked, just a flicker of vulnerability before she pulled her walls back up.

“Alright, Leaving...” Stefano said, the humor in his tone just enough to disarm her. “You’re welcome to stay until the rain stops. No sermons, no strings attached. Just a dry pew and a bit of quiet.”

Y/N hesitated. Quiet wasn’t something she was used to. Her mind was usually too loud, a relentless cacophony of doubt, anger and the kind of loneliness that gnawed at her ribs. But the warmth of the church, the steady glow of the candles and the calm presence of this infuriatingly unbothered priest... it wasn’t the worst place she could be.

“Fine.” She muttered, brushing past him and collapsing into a pew at the back. “But don’t get any ideas. I’m not confessing. And I’m definitely not praying.”

Stefano didn’t respond right away. He simply nodded, his gaze lingering on her for a beat longer than necessary before turning back toward the altar.

“Stay as long as you need.” He said over his shoulder.

Y/N leaned back against the pew, arms crossed, trying her best to ignore the warmth seeping through her damp clothes. She wasn’t staying because of him, she told herself. She was staying because the thought of stepping back into the rain felt like a punishment she didn’t deserve.

Her eyes wandered across the high ceilings, where painted angels gazed down at her with pity she didn’t ask for. The candles flickered at the altar, their soft light dancing in the shadows, but it wasn’t enough to distract her from the weight pressing on her chest.

“You’re staring at the ceiling like it owes you something.”

His voice broke through her thoughts, startling her. She glanced over to see Stefano standing near the altar, his cassock flowing as he moved. He wasn’t looking at her, not directly, but there was something about his presence that felt... intentional.

“Maybe it does.” She replied, her tone sharp enough to keep him at arm’s length.

He paused, tilting his head as if considering her answer. “And what might that be?”

She didn’t respond immediately, her gaze dropping to the marble floor. “I don’t know. An explanation, maybe. For why things are the way they are. For why it feels like... like I’m being punished for something I didn’t do.”

Her voice cracked at the end and she hated herself for it. She wasn’t here to bare her soul to some priest with kind eyes and too much patience.

“You think you’re being punished?” Stefano asked, his tone gentle, but not pitying. He stepped closer, keeping a respectful distance. “By God?”

She laughed bitterly. “I don’t believe in God, Father. But if He’s up there, He’s got a cruel sense of humor.”

Stefano didn’t flinch at her words. Instead, he took a seat on the edge of a nearby pew, his hands resting loosely in his lap. “It’s okay to be angry.” He said quietly. “Even at God. Especially at God. I think He understands better than we give Him credit for.”

“Wow...” Y/N said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “You’re really selling this whole ‘faith’ thing.”

“It’s not about selling anything.” he replied simply. “I’m just listening.”

That caught her off guard. She had spent her entire life around people who either wanted to fix her or fixate on her problems. Stefano, it seemed, wanted neither. He just sat there, waiting, as if the silence didn’t bother him at all.

For a moment, Y/N considered leaving. Walking out into the rain and disappearing back into the chaos of her life. But something about the way Stefano sat there, calm and steady, made her stay.

“What’s your deal?” She asked finally, breaking the silence.

He raised an eyebrow. “My deal?”

“Yeah.” She nodded, gesturing vaguely at him. “You’re not like... the others. Most priests would’ve either shoved a Bible in my hands or kicked me out by now.”

Stefano smiled faintly, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. “I guess I’ve learned that people aren’t usually looking for answers. Sometimes, they just want to be heard.”

“Sounds like something they’d teach you in priest school.” She muttered.

“Not exactly." He said, his tone softening. “I had to learn it the hard way.”

Y/N looked at him, really looked at him, for the first time. There was a sadness in his eyes, something deeper than she had expected. It wasn’t pity—she could handle pity. No, this was something else.

“What happened?” She asked before she could stop herself.

Stefano hesitated, his gaze dropping to the floor. “That’s a story for another time." He said, standing and brushing off his cassock. “But for now, you’re welcome to stay as long as you like. The rain doesn’t seem to be letting up anytime soon.”

And with that, he walked back toward the altar, leaving Y/N alone with her thoughts.

She hated how curious she felt. Hated how his quiet presence made her feel something she couldn’t quite name. But for the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel like running away.

The rain pounded against the stained-glass windows, each drop a reminder that the storm outside was far less intimidating than the one raging within her. Stefano didn’t push her to talk, didn’t offer any sermons or platitudes. He moved around the church quietly, lighting candles, adjusting books on the pews and straightening the altar cloth. It was almost annoying how at ease he seemed, as though the world wasn’t falling apart around them.

When the rain finally slowed to a drizzle, Y/N forced herself to stand. Her legs felt stiff and she could feel the eyes of the carved saints watching her every movement.

“I’ll go now.” She said, her voice sharper than she intended.

Stefano looked up from where he was kneeling near the altar. “The doors are always open, signorina.”

“Yeah, well, don’t expect me back.” She shot back, turning toward the door.

“I won’t." He said simply.

That stopped her in her tracks. No argument, no insistence that she should come back, no promises of salvation. She turned her head slightly, just enough to catch him watching her, his expression unreadable.

“Good.” She muttered, pushing the door open and stepping into the damp night. "Oh, and Father?" She turned to look back at him. "I'm Y/N."

─── ���⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

It had been weeks since Y/N stumbled into the church. Weeks of telling herself she wouldn’t go back, that the moment was a fluke, an accident born of rain and bad luck. But no matter how far she wandered through the city, she couldn’t quite shake the memory of Stefano, the way he had listened without judgment, the calm steadiness of his presence.

She told herself it didn’t matter. She had more important things to worry about, like finding her next meal or a place to sleep that wasn’t a park bench. Yet, when she found herself walking past the church again one crisp autumn afternoon, her steps faltered.

The doors were wide open, sunlight spilling into the dim interior like a hesitant guest. She hovered at the threshold, torn between curiosity and pride, when a voice interrupted her internal battle.

“You don’t need an invitation to come inside.”

Stefano’s voice was warm, familiar and it startled her. She looked up to see him standing in the doorway, his cassock swapped for a simple shirt and slacks. He carried a basket of fresh produce, his sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms dusted with flour.

“I wasn’t going to.” Y/N lied, crossing her arms defensively.

“Of course not.” Stefano said, a hint of amusement in his tone. “You were just... admiring the architecture?”

“Something like that.” She muttered, her gaze flickering toward the basket. “What’s with the groceries? Thought priests lived off bread and wine.”

He laughed softly, a sound that caught her off guard with its ease. “I help cook meals for the orphanage down the street. Today, I’m making minestrone. Would you like to join me?”

Her stomach growled at the mention of food, betraying her. She clenched her jaw, hating how transparent she felt under his calm gaze.

“I don’t need charity.” She snapped.

“It’s not charity.” He replied evenly. “It’s dinner. And I could use an extra set of hands in the kitchen.”

For a moment, she considered refusing. She didn’t want to owe him anything, didn’t want to feel like a stray dog he was taking pity on. But the memory of her last proper meal)–stale bread and half a bruised apple–made her hesitate.

“Fine." She said finally. “But I’m not peeling anything.”

Stefano smiled, stepping aside to let her in. “Deal.”

The church kitchen was small but warm, the scent of fresh basil and simmering vegetables filling the air. Stefano handed her a knife and a cutting board, instructing her to chop carrots while he stirred the pot.

“You’re awfully trusting for someone who just handed me a weapon.” Y/N remarked, eyeing the blade.

Stefano chuckled. “I have faith you’ll use it wisely.”

“Big mistake.” She muttered, though the corners of her mouth twitched upward despite herself.

As they worked, Stefano didn’t pry or ask questions. Instead, he told her stories–about the children at the orphanage, the elderly nun who ran it and the stray cat that had made itself a permanent resident.

“You talk too much.” Y/N said at one point, though her tone lacked its usual bite.

“Do I?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes. It’s exhausting.”

“Noted.” Stefano said, his lips twitching into a smile. “Would you prefer silence?”

She paused, the knife hovering over the cutting board. “No.” She admitted quietly.

They finished the soup in companionable quiet, the kind that didn’t feel oppressive or awkward. When it was done, Stefano ladled a generous portion into two bowls and set one in front of her.

Y/N hesitated, the steam rising to meet her nose. “This doesn’t mean I’m coming back." She said.

“I know.” He replied, taking a seat across from her.

“And I’m not peeling anything next time either.”

“Understood.”

Despite herself, she smirked, picking up her spoon. The soup was warm and comforting, the kind of meal that felt like a hug you didn’t know you needed.

For the first time in a long time, Y/N didn’t feel like running.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Y/N didn’t intend to get involved with the orphanage.

In fact, she tried her best to avoid it. After that evening in the church kitchen, she made a mental note to steer clear of Stefano, his kind eyes and his frustrating way of making her feel seen. But it was hard to avoid someone who seemed to know the streets better than she did.

The next time she ran into him, it was on a narrow cobblestone alley near the bakery where she scavenged day-old bread. Stefano was crouched beside a small boy with dirt-smudged cheeks and mismatched shoes, tying a loose shoelace while the child babbled about something Y/N couldn’t quite hear.

She paused mid-step, her instincts screaming at her to turn around and disappear, but Stefano looked up and spotted her. His smile was as warm as the sun peeking through the clouds.

“Y/N.” He called, straightening up. “Perfect timing.”

“For what?” She asked warily, keeping her distance.

“This is Luca.” Stefano said, gesturing to the boy. “He’s one of the children at the orphanage.”

Luca grinned at her, his two front teeth missing. “Are you the lady who helped Father Stefano cook soup?”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard. “How do you—”

“He told us.” Luca interrupted proudly. “He said you’re very good at chopping carrots.”

Her lips twitched, though she fought the urge to smile. “Is that so?”

Stefano shrugged, the picture of innocence. “I might’ve mentioned it.”

Before she could reply, Luca grabbed her hand with surprising confidence for a boy his size. “Come with us! Father Stefano is taking me to get a new book. I want to show you my favorite one!”

Y/N glanced at Stefano, who looked like he was trying very hard not to laugh. “He’s persistent.” He said, as if that explained everything.

“I noticed.” She muttered, but Luca’s grip was firm, and before she knew it, she was following them down the alley.

The bookshop smelled of old paper and ink, a comforting blend that Y/N hadn’t realized she missed. Luca darted between the shelves like a whirlwind, pulling out books and chattering to Stefano about each one.

Y/N hovered near the door, feeling out of place among the neat rows of novels and the quiet hum of conversation. Stefano didn’t push her to join them, but every so often, he would glance her way, a silent invitation in his gaze.

Eventually, Luca ran up to her with a battered copy of 'The Adventures of Pinocchio'. “This one’s my favorite.” He announced, holding it out to her.

Y/N took the book hesitantly, running her fingers over the worn cover. “Why?”

“Because it’s about a boy who makes a lot of mistakes, but still gets a happy ending.” Luca said matter-of-factly. “Do you like it?”

She stared at the book, her throat tightening. “I... I haven’t read it.”

Luca’s eyes widened. “You should! Father Stefano can read it to you if you want. He’s really good at the voices.”

“I’ll keep that in mind." She said, her voice softer than she intended as she glanced at the priest.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

By the time they left the bookshop, Y/N had somehow been roped into visiting the orphanage.

“It’s just for a quick tour.” Stefano said as they walked. “No pressure.”

“Sure...” She said dryly. “Because you’re not the least bit manipulative.”

He smiled, unbothered by her sarcasm. “Not manipulative. Just persuasive.”

The orphanage was a modest building tucked away on a quiet street, its walls painted a cheerful yellow that stood out against the gray stone surrounding it. Inside, the air buzzed with the sounds of children laughing, arguing, and running down the halls.

Y/N stood awkwardly near the entrance, unsure of what to do with herself as Stefano greeted the nuns who ran the place. Luca immediately disappeared into a crowd of kids, holding up his new book like a trophy.

“Would you like to help serve dinner?” Stefano asked, turning to her.

Her first instinct was to say no, to bolt for the door and never look back. But something about the way he asked–like it wasn’t a big deal, like she wasn’t some project to fix–made her hesitate.

“Fine.” She muttered. “But don’t expect me to be good at it.”

The evening passed in a blur of noise and activity, leaving Y/N more drained than she expected. When the children had finally scattered to their rooms and the last of the dishes were washed, she found herself lingering in the quiet kitchen, unsure why she hadn’t left yet.

Stefano was at the table, carefully folding a pile of napkins. The room was lit by a single oil lamp, casting soft shadows across the worn wooden surfaces.

“You’re still here.” He said without looking up, his voice steady but not surprised.

“Yeah, well... I didn’t want to walk home in the dark." She muttered, though she wasn’t entirely sure it was true.

Stefano nodded, finishing his task before meeting her gaze. “Fair enough. Sit down for a bit, then.”

She hesitated but eventually sank into the chair across from him. The silence stretched between them, not quite comfortable but not unbearable either.

“Why do you do it?” She asked suddenly, her fingers tracing patterns on the tabletop.

“Do what?”

“All of this.” She said, gesturing vaguely. “The orphanage, the soup, the... whatever it is you do every day. Don’t you ever get tired of trying to save people?”

Stefano leaned back in his chair, studying her with that infuriatingly calm expression. “Sometimes...” He admitted. “But it’s not about me. It’s about them.”

“That’s such a cop-out answer.” She said, rolling her eyes.

He laughed softly. “Maybe. But it’s the truth.”

Y/N frowned, picking at a loose thread on her sleeve. “I don’t get it. You don’t even know me and yet you’re–” She stopped, searching for the right word.

“Persistent?” He offered.

“Annoying.” She corrected, though her tone was less sharp than usual.

Stefano chuckled, folding his hands on the table. “You remind me of someone I knew once. Someone who thought they didn’t need anyone, that they could carry the weight of the world on their own.”

“Let me guess.” Y/N said dryly. “You swooped in and saved them too?”

“Not exactly.” He said, his gaze softening. “But I helped them see that they weren’t as alone as they thought.”

Y/N’s throat tightened, the words hitting closer to home than she wanted to admit. She looked away, her eyes landing on the flickering flame of the lamp. “I’m not looking to be saved, you know.”

“I know." Stefano said quietly. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t care.”

She swallowed hard, the weight of his words pressing against her chest. “You’re really bad at minding your own business.”

“It’s a terrible habit.” He agreed, his lips curving into a faint smile.

Despite herself, Y/N felt the corners of her mouth twitch. She quickly masked it by standing up and reaching for her coat. “I should go.”

Stefano stood as well, but he didn’t try to stop her. “The doors are always open, Y/N.”

She paused in the doorway, her hand resting on the worn wood. “Yeah, yeah. I know.”

But as she stepped into the cool night air, a part of her wondered if maybe, just maybe, she didn’t mind the idea of coming back.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The rain came back with a vengeance two nights later.

Y/N hadn’t meant to end up on the church steps again. She’d sworn to herself after that evening at the orphanage that she was done with Stefano and his relentless kindness. But as the storm rolled in, soaking her to the bone and turning the streets into rivers of filth, she found her feet taking her there anyway.

By the time she pushed open the heavy wooden doors, she was shaking from both cold and exhaustion. The church was dimly lit, the flicker of candlelight casting long shadows on the walls. She hesitated just inside, unsure if she was intruding, when a familiar voice cut through the stillness.

“You’re drenched.”

Stefano stood at the altar, his cassock loose and his hair slightly mussed, as if he’d been running his hands through it. His expression was unreadable, but there was no mistaking the concern in his eyes.

“I didn’t come here for you.” She said defensively, though it sounded weak even to her own ears.

“I didn’t say you did." He replied, stepping down from the altar. “Come on. There’s a fire in the rectory.”

“I’m fine!" She snapped, but her trembling hands betrayed her.

Stefano didn’t argue. He simply waited, his calm presence somehow more infuriating than if he’d tried to insist. Finally, with a defeated sigh, she followed him through a side door and into the rectory.

The small room was cozy, with a crackling fire and a simple wooden table cluttered with books and papers. Stefano handed her a dry towel and gestured for her to sit by the hearth.

She hesitated, hating how vulnerable she felt, but the warmth was too tempting to resist. She sank into the chair, wrapping the towel around herself as she stared into the flames.

“Do you want tea?” He asked, already moving toward a small kettle.

“Why do you care?” She muttered.

Stefano paused, his back to her. “Because someone has to.”

The words hit her like a punch to the gut. She bit her lip, refusing to let him see how much they affected her. “I don’t need your pity.”

“It’s not pity." He said, turning to face her. “It’s just... care.”

She laughed bitterly, the sound sharp and brittle. “Care? You don’t even know me.”

“Then help me understand.” Stefano said softly, his eyes locking onto hers.

For a moment, she wanted to run, to throw up every wall she’d spent years building. But something about his voice, his presence, made her stay.

“I don’t need anyone to save me." She said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I know.” Stefano replied. “But that doesn’t mean you have to carry everything alone.”

The dam cracked, just a little. “You don’t get it.” Her voice cracked, her hands tightening around the towel. “I’ve tried. I’ve tried to fix things, to be better, but it’s like every time I get close, something pulls me back under.”

Her voice broke again and she hated herself for it. She hated that she was falling apart in front of him, of all people.

Stefano didn’t speak right away. Instead, he pulled a chair closer and sat across from her, his presence steady and unshakable.

“It’s not about being perfect.” He said quietly. “It’s about trying. And letting people help when you can’t do it alone.”

She shook her head, tears burning in her eyes. “I don’t even believe in God. What am I doing here?”

“You’re here because you’re tired.” Stefano said simply. “And that’s okay.”

The honesty in his voice, the lack of judgment, made her chest ache. She looked away, the firelight blurring in her vision.

“I don’t know how to stop running.” She admitted, her voice so soft she wasn’t sure he’d heard her.

“You don’t have to figure it all out tonight.” the priest said gently. “But maybe... maybe you don’t have to run alone.”

Y/N closed her eyes, letting his words sink in. For the first time in years, the thought of staying still didn’t feel like a trap.

And as the rain pounded against the windows, she let herself believe, just for a moment, that maybe Stefano was right.

As the minutes ticked by, the warmth of the fire and the rhythmic patter of the storm lulled her into a strange stillness. It was as if the world had quieted around her, leaving only the soft crackle of the flames and Stefano’s steady presence.

Her body betrayed her exhaustion, sinking deeper into the chair as her eyes grew heavy. She fought it at first. After all, sleep was a dangerous thing, a state where her defenses crumbled and memories had a habit of sneaking in uninvited. But here, cocooned in the unexpected safety of the rectory, her resistance faltered.

Stefano hadn’t spoken in a while, but she could sense he was still nearby, perhaps reading or praying silently. That thought, oddly enough, didn’t irritate her. If anything, it anchored her, the knowledge that someone else was awake, someone who wasn’t asking anything of her.

Her lashes fluttered shut despite her protests and her breathing slowed.

Stefano looked up from his place by the table, his gaze softening when he saw her. She was curled in on herself, her knees drawn up slightly as if to shield herself from a world that had been too harsh. He noticed how her face, always so guarded, had softened in sleep, the tension melted away by the fire’s warmth.

For a long moment, he simply watched, his own thoughts a quiet murmur of prayer and questions.

Rising silently, he fetched a blanket from a nearby shelf. With the same care one might show a fragile relic, he draped it over her, tucking the edges gently around her shoulders. The gesture wasn’t calculated or deliberate; it was instinctive, driven by a need to offer comfort where it was so clearly needed.

When he returned to his seat, he found his gaze drifting back to her. She had mentioned she didn’t believe in God, but there was something deeply sacred about the vulnerability she showed now, even if unintentionally. Stefano wasn’t sure what to make of it.

The storm outside began to ebb, the rain now a faint drizzle. The room was quiet save for the occasional crack of the fire, and Stefano leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes for a moment.

He told himself he was only staying awake in case she stirred or needed something, but a part of him knew it was more than that. He wanted to be there, wanted her to wake to the same calmness she’d fallen asleep in.

And for the first time in a long while, Stefano found himself silently asking a question he couldn’t easily answer: Was this where he was meant to be?

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The storm had passed by the time morning arrived, leaving the world outside washed clean and glistening under the early light. The rectory was quiet, the air carrying the faint scent of burnt wood and something earthy, like rain-soaked stone.

Y/N stirred first, the blanket slipping slightly from her shoulders as she blinked herself awake. For a moment, she was disoriented, her surroundings unfamiliar. But then the memories of the previous night came rushing back—the fire, the storm, Stefano.

She sat up quickly, her eyes darting around until they landed on him. He was sitting by the table, head bowed, his fingers lightly gripping a rosary. The beads glinted faintly in the sunlight streaming through the small window.

She froze, unsure what to say. She wasn’t used to waking up in places like this, under blankets that didn’t feel like shields or traps.

“Good morning." Stefano said softly, not looking up.

Her breath caught. It wasn’t his voice—it was how calm it sounded, like he’d been waiting for her to wake but didn’t want to rush her.

“Morning." She muttered, her voice thick from sleep.

He glanced at her then, a small smile tugging at his lips. “There’s tea on the stove. It’s still warm if you’d like some.”

She shifted awkwardly, clutching the blanket tighter around her shoulders. “I, uh... I should probably go.”

Stefano nodded, but he didn’t look disappointed. “If that’s what you want.”

His response threw her off once again. She'd expected an argument, some polite insistence that she stay longer. Instead, he rose from his chair and moved to pour a cup of tea, setting it on the edge of the table nearest to her.

“No one’s keeping you here." He added, his tone light. “But you don’t have to leave right away."

Her heart betrayed her, skipping a beat at his words, causing her cheeks to flush. Stefano chuckled softly, his laugh warm but not mocking.

“Fine.” She grumbled, standing and letting the blanket fall back onto the chair. She crossed the room and picked up the teacup, avoiding his gaze as she took a tentative sip.

The tea was earthy and slightly sweet and it warmed her from the inside out. She hated how much she liked it.

They sat in silence for a while, Stefano returning to his seat by the table and Y/N perching on the edge of the chair nearest the fire. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t quite easy, either.

“I’m sorry." She said abruptly, the words spilling out before she could stop them.

Stefano looked up, surprised. “For what?”

“For... falling asleep here. For... last night.” She said, stumbling over the words. “I didn’t mean to–”

“There’s nothing to apologize for." He interrupted gently.

She frowned, her fingers tightening around the teacup. “Why are you like this?”

“Like what?”

“Like... you don’t expect anything in return.” She said, frustrated. “Like you’re just... good.”

Stefano smiled faintly, leaning back in his chair. “I’m not as good as you think, Y/N. I’m just trying to be present. For you, for anyone who needs it.”

She shook her head, setting the cup down with a little more force than necessary. “It’s not normal. People aren’t like that.”

“Maybe they should be." He said simply.

His words hung in the air, and for once, Y/N didn’t know how to respond.

Stefano watched her for a moment longer, then stood and began tidying the table, giving her space to think. She watched him out of the corner of her eye, his movements calm and deliberate.

Y/N sat with the empty teacup in her hands, staring into its depths as if it held answers to questions she hadn’t dared to ask. Stefano, now occupied with clearing the table, moved around the room with an ease she found infuriating. He wasn’t awkward or stiff, even in her presence and that calmness unsettled her.

Her stomach suddenly betrayed her, growling loudly in the otherwise quiet room. She winced, clutching at her midsection as if that could silence it.

Stefano glanced up from where he was folding a dishcloth. His expression was neutral, but there was the faintest hint of amusement in his eyes. “Hungry much?”

Y/N’s cheeks burned and she looked anywhere but at him. “I... maybe. Just a little.”

“Good.” He said without hesitation, moving toward a small cabinet. “You should be.”

She blinked, caught off guard by his easy response. “Why is that good?”

“It means you’re comfortable enough to admit it.” Stefano said matter-of-factly, pulling out a loaf of bread and a small tin of jam.

Y/N opened her mouth to argue, but no words came out. She watched as he set the bread on the table, slicing it with practiced precision. The smell of fresh bread filled the room, making her mouth water despite herself.

“I don’t need much.” She said quickly, as if to justify her earlier confession.

“You’ll get what you need.” Stefano replied with a small smile, handing her a plate with a thick slice of bread, a smear of jam glistening on top.

She hesitated, eyeing the plate warily.

“It’s just bread." He said lightly, taking a piece for himself.

“Yeah, but you’re weird about bread." She muttered under her breath.

Stefano chuckled, a genuine, warm sound that made her feel both exposed and oddly at ease. “Not all bread is sacred. Sometimes it’s just breakfast.”

Her lips twitched despite herself and she finally took the plate. The first bite was tentative, but as soon as the flavors hit her tongue, she realized how hungry she really was. She devoured the slice in quick bites, her appetite overriding her self-consciousness.

Stefano didn’t comment, eating his own piece at a leisurely pace. When she finished, he handed her another without a word.

“Thanks." She said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

“You’re welcome.”

The simplicity of the exchange felt... odd. Not uncomfortable, exactly, but foreign. She was used to everything being a transaction, even kindness. But here he was, giving her bread and tea as if it were the most natural thing in the world, expecting nothing in return.

“More tea?” He asked after a moment, his voice light.

She nodded, a tiny smile tugging at her lips despite herself.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The days after the storm had passed were quieter, filled with the usual calm that Stefano had long been accustomed to. Y/N, though still uncertain about what she had felt the night before, had started to come around more often. She wasn’t staying in the rectory, but she would stop by to help him with small tasks, trying—unsuccessfully at times—to hide the anxiety that always simmered beneath her calm exterior.

That afternoon, Stefano had asked her to accompany him to the market to pick up supplies for the upcoming week. It had seemed harmless enough, a simple errand—but as soon as they left the quiet of the rectory and entered the bustling streets, something in Y/N snapped.

The noise was too much–the crowded squares, the chatter of vendors, the clatter of carts, the children laughing too loudly–it all felt like a wall pressing in on her, suffocating her. She kept her head down, her breath growing shallower with each step.

Stefano, walking just a few paces ahead, didn’t seem to notice, his attention absorbed in the details of the market: the bread, the vegetables, the vendors waving at him in greeting. His calmness, the easy flow of his movements, made her feel even more out of place.

"Y/N?" Stefano's voice pulled her out of her spiraling thoughts. He turned back to her with a soft smile, a basket in his hands, his eyes warm with quiet understanding. "Are you alright?"

But the warmth in his gaze only made the pressure in her chest worse.

"I'm fine." She snapped, her voice sharper than she intended. The words tasted bitter in her mouth, but they were already out. "Can we just finish this? I don’t need your... your pity."

Stefano’s expression faltered, his brows furrowing ever so slightly. He stepped back toward her, but this time, his hand didn’t reach for her. Instead, he gave her space, his eyes studying her carefully.

“We've had this conversation before. I’m not pitying you, Y/N." He said, his tone gentle but firm. “I’m trying to help.”

"Well, I don’t need help." She said, her voice rising now, the words spilling out faster than she could stop them. “I don’t need anyone’s help! I don’t need your help! You think you can just... be kind and it fixes everything? It doesn’t! It doesn’t make me feel better! It doesn’t make the noise go away or the emptiness inside me go away! It doesn’t change anything!”

Her chest tightened as her words tumbled out, her face flushed with frustration and something darker, something deeper that she had been burying for far too long.

Stefano looked at her, his expression unreadable for a moment, and for a terrifying second, Y/N thought he might just walk away. But he didn’t. He just stood there, his gaze softening.

“I... I’m sorry.” She said, the harshness in her voice fading as quickly as it had appeared. She wanted to take back the words, wanted to swallow them down before they could do any more damage. She didn’t want to be angry with him. She never did.

But she had no control over it–no control over the feelings, over the panic, over the way everything felt like it was closing in around her. She took a shaky breath, her hand reaching for her hair, tugging it behind her ear as if the motion could ground her.

"I didn’t mean that." She whispered, her voice trembling.

Stefano said nothing, but he reached out to her. This time, it wasn’t with the gentle touch she had come to expect–it was an offering of space, a quiet permission to fall apart. He gave her a moment.

Y/N closed her eyes, trying to steady herself, but the panic was rising again, making her heart beat faster. She could feel the edges of her thoughts blurring, the familiar sense of losing control creeping in. She couldn’t breathe.

“I’m sorry.” She repeated, her hands trembling now as she clutched at her sides. “I don’t... I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I don’t know how to stop feeling like this, like I’m just... always about to fall apart. It's so exhausting."

Stefano stepped forward, his presence solid and steady. He didn’t say anything at first. Instead, he just stood there, waiting. His silence wasn’t uncomfortable, it was the kind that allowed her to breathe without pressure, as if he were giving her space to be broken without judgment.

“I don’t... I don’t know how to fix it.” She said, her voice breaking now, the tears that had been threatening to spill finally falling. “I just want to be normal, Stefano. I just want to... feel like I’m not falling apart every day.”

Her breath caught in her throat as she struggled to hold it together, but the sobs came anyway, wracking her body with the force of emotions she didn’t understand.

Stefano’s hand was on her arm before she even realized it, guiding her gently into the alcove of a nearby building where they could be out of sight of the bustling street. The smell of fresh bread and fruit was muffled in the space and the noise of the market softened, like a distant hum.

Y/N let him guide her, her head spinning as her emotions overwhelmed her. She hated how much it hurt, how raw it all felt, how much she wished she could just close herself off and pretend she was fine.

“I didn’t mean to...” She gasped, her chest tight with emotion.

Stefano didn’t interrupt her this time. He simply reached out, pulling her gently into a hug, his arms wrapping around her with a tenderness that made her want to collapse. His chest was warm against her cheek, his heartbeat steady and calm, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Y/N let herself lean into him, let herself just... break.

“I’m here." He whispered against her hair, his voice calm but full of unspoken strength. “I’m not going anywhere, Y/N.”

Her sobs quieted in the circle of his arms, the storm of emotions inside her beginning to settle. She didn’t know how long they stood there, the world outside continuing on without them, but eventually, she pulled away, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

“I’m sorry.” she whispered again, feeling the weight of her words. “I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

Stefano looked down at her, his eyes soft. “You don’t have to apologize. You’re not broken, Y/N. You’re just... struggling. And that’s okay.”

Y/N shook her head, the tears still fresh on her cheeks. “I don’t deserve your kindness. I don’t deserve anything.”

“You deserve more than you know.” He said, his voice unwavering. “And it’s okay not to be okay. You’re not alone in this.”

Y/N stared at him, her breath still uneven. “But... I’m just a burden, Father. A waste of space and air. I—”

Her voice cracked as the words tumbled from her lips, the self-loathing that had been building for so long spilling over. She could feel the weight of her shame and pain crushing her chest, suffocating her with each breath. She looked away, not wanting him to see the cracks in her carefully built façade.

Stefano’s eyes softened with a mix of concern and understanding, his hand gently reaching up to touch her face. His touch was tender, almost reverent, as if he was afraid that even the slightest movement might break her further. His fingers brushed the dampness of her cheeks, wiping away the last of her tears with a tenderness she couldn’t comprehend.

“Y/N.” he murmured, his voice so soft, so sincere. “You’re not a burden. You’re not a waste of anything.”

His words weren’t just comforting. They were a lifeline, pulling her from the depths of her own mind. His hand stayed on her face, his thumb brushing across her skin in slow, soothing circles.

“I know it’s hard to believe...” He continued, his voice steady. “But you’re worthy of love. You’re worthy of kindness. You’re worthy of more than you know.”

Her breath hitched, and she could feel the tightness in her chest loosen just a fraction. For a moment, she allowed herself to close her eyes, to let his warmth wrap around her, the security of his presence grounding her.

“But I don’t know how to be that person." She whispered, her voice barely a breath, like the admission of a secret she had kept buried for far too long. “I don’t know how to stop feeling broken.”

Stefano took a step closer, his body just inches from hers, but it wasn’t overwhelming. It was like he was offering her the space to feel, to breathe, without rushing her. His eyes, soft and full of patience, never left hers.

“You don’t have to be fixed, Y/N." He said, his voice quiet but intense. “You don’t need to be anything other than what you are. You’re enough, just as you are.”

The sincerity in his gaze made something shift inside her–a crack in the wall she had so carefully constructed around herself. She felt her heart beat faster, not from panic or fear, but from something else–something unfamiliar, yet not unwelcome.

“I don’t deserve your kindness." She murmured, her voice trembling as she struggled to keep the emotions at bay. “I don’t deserve anything from you.”

His thumb continued to stroke her cheek, the motion gentle, almost reverent, as if he were memorizing the curve of her face. “You deserve everything, Y/N. Everything good and beautiful.”

The tenderness in his voice was like a balm to her wounds, and before she could stop herself, she reached up, her hand covering his, pressing it more firmly against her cheek. There was something about the way he was looking at her, something in the way he was holding her gaze, that made her feel... safe.

Safe to feel. Safe to be weak. Safe to be vulnerable.

For a long moment, they stood there, not speaking, just breathing. Her heart fluttered in her chest, the feeling of his touch making her head swim with confusion and something deeper—something she didn’t want to name, but couldn’t ignore.

She wanted to pull away, to step back into the comfort of her guarded self, but she couldn��t. His presence was magnetic, drawing her in, offering her something she hadn’t realized she needed: connection.

His eyes never left hers as he leaned in, the space between them growing smaller with each breath. When he spoke again, his voice was lower, almost a whisper, as if the moment was too delicate to disturb.

“You don’t have to apologize, Y/N. Not to me. Not ever.”

And before she could say anything else, he did something that took her completely by surprise–he gently cupped her chin and tilted her face up toward him, his eyes soft and full of unspoken emotions. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he pressed his forehead to hers, his breath mingling with hers, both of them standing in the quiet intimacy of the moment.

Y/N felt her heart skip a beat. The simple gesture of his closeness, the warmth of his skin against hers, sent a rush of heat through her. Her pulse quickened, and she was suddenly acutely aware of everything—the faint scent of his cologne, the rhythm of their breathing, the slight tremble in her hands.

“I’m here." He whispered, so quietly that she almost didn’t hear it. “You don’t have to carry this alone.”

The words hung in the air, hanging between them like a promise, and for the first time in a long time, Y/N felt something shift inside her. Maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t as broken as she had believed. Maybe she wasn’t beyond saving.

Slowly, she leaned into him, her forehead pressing against his as if she were searching for something–something she hadn’t even known she needed until this moment. His warmth, his kindness, his unwavering presence, it all felt like a lifeline.

“I don’t know what I’m doing.” She murmured, the words escaping her before she could stop them. “But when I’m with you... I feel like maybe I could be okay.”

Stefano remained still, his breath steady as his arms slowly circled around her, pulling her closer. His embrace was warm, comforting, and it felt like home.

“You don’t have to know, Y/N.” He said, his voice soft and full of promise. “You just have to be. And I’ll be here, no matter what.”

She closed her eyes, allowing herself to fall into his embrace, the world around her fading away. For the first time in a long time, Y/N didn’t feel so alone.

And for a fleeting moment, as she stood in his arms, she allowed herself to imagine what it would be like to live without the constant weight of her anxiety, without the chains of self-doubt. What if, just for once, she could allow herself to feel love without fear?

As the rain began to fall again, soft and steady, Y/N let herself believe just for a moment that she could be worthy of it.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The days after Y/N's moment of weakness were a strange blend of quiet moments and growing anticipation. Y/N found herself slipping into a new rhythm, one that was defined not just by her own inner turmoil, but by the space Stefano had carved for her in his life. It wasn’t just his kindness that touched her, but also the way he seemed to understand without asking, the way his mere presence soothed her like a balm on an open wound.

But with that soothing presence came a tension she couldn’t ignore. The simple moments started to hold something deeper–a current of attraction neither of them spoke aloud, but both felt in the space between them.

One evening, after a particularly long day of helping him organize church materials, they found themselves alone in the library. The evening sun cast a warm, golden light through the windows and Y/N stood by the bookshelf, tracing the spines of old books without really seeing them. She was aware of Stefano just behind her, but she couldn’t bring herself to turn and face him. The air between them felt charged, like the calm before a storm and it made her heart race in a way she wasn’t prepared for.

Stefano was silent for a moment, watching her. He hadn’t said much since they’d finished their work, but his presence was undeniable, always just a step away. Finally, his voice broke the silence, low and soft, but with an edge that made her turn toward him.

“You’re distant tonight.” He trailed off, his eyes dark, scanning her face. “What’s on your mind, Y/N?”

She didn’t know how to answer. The truth was, she wasn’t just thinking about her usual turmoil–she was thinking about him. His hands, his voice, the way he stood so close without ever overstepping. She couldn’t deny the pull she felt toward him, an attraction that seemed to grow stronger each day. But it terrified her too. She wasn’t ready to let go of the walls she’d built around herself and yet, being near him made those walls feel like they were crumbling.

“I... I’m fine." She replied, her voice betraying her, soft and uncertain. “Just... tired.”

He didn’t buy it. Of course he didn’t. Stefano stepped closer and his gaze softened, as if he was seeing through her carefully constructed exterior. His hand moved to the side of her face, his thumb brushing against her jaw in that same tender way he always did. But this time, the touch lingered. She could feel the heat of his skin through the fabric of her blouse and it made her breath hitch in her throat.

“You don’t have to hide from me, Y/N." He said, his voice thick with an emotion she couldn’t place. His hand slid gently to the back of her neck, his thumb massaging the skin there, sending a shiver down her spine. “I’m here. You’re not alone.”

Her breath caught in her chest, the closeness between them making her heart pound. She had never felt like this with anyone–this mix of comfort and desire, of emotional need and physical yearning. It was overwhelming and it took everything in her not to pull away.

“I...” She started, but the words didn’t come. She couldn’t make herself speak.

Stefano’s hand tightened slightly, his thumb pressing into the sensitive spot just below her ear, a gentle but firm pressure that sent a jolt of electricity through her. His gaze lowered to her lips and the world seemed to shrink down to just the two of them.

“Y/N...” His voice was barely a whisper, his breath warm against her face. “Is this okay?”

Her heart thudded in her chest, every inch of her body screaming at her to step back, to run, to preserve the safety of her emotional walls. But his touch was gentle, patient, as if he was waiting for her to choose. Waiting for her to admit that maybe, just maybe, she didn’t want to keep running anymore.

With trembling hands, she reached up, cupping his face in her palms, feeling the warmth of his skin against hers. Her fingers brushed the edge of his jaw, his skin awfully smooth against her fingertips and it made her breath catch. She could feel the weight of the moment, the tension between them thick and palpable, like a rope being pulled tighter with every passing second.

“I’m scared.” She admitted, her voice barely audible, the words slipping out before she could stop them. “I don’t know if I can... let myself feel this.”

His hands moved, wrapping loosely around her waist and pulling her gently toward him. His forehead rested against hers and for a moment, they just stood there, the world outside slipping away, leaving only the two of them in the quiet of the room.

“You don’t have to be scared with me." Stefano murmured, his voice low and soothing. “I’m not going anywhere, Y/N. I've said this before, I'm saying this now and I'll say this as many times as needed." He whispered softly. "I’m not going to hurt you. Just... let yourself fall and I'll be there to catch you."

And with that, the last of her defenses cracked.

She leaned in, her lips brushing against his in a kiss so soft, so tentative, that it almost felt like a question. But Stefano responded with the same quiet intensity, his hands pulling her even closer, deepening the kiss, his lips demanding more without words. It was slow, reverent, as if he was savoring the moment, letting her take the lead as much as he was.

When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathless, their hearts pounding in their chests. Y/N felt light-headed, as if the very air around her had shifted, become heavier with something more. Something dangerous, yet exhilarating.

“Do you trust me?” Stefano asked, voice husky, his eyes dark with a hunger that mirrored her own, a hunger she's never seen in his his eyes before.

Y/N hesitated for a moment, searching his face, looking for any sign that this wasn’t real. But all she saw was the sincerity in his gaze, the warmth in his touch. And for the first time in what felt like forever, she realized that maybe, just maybe, she could trust him.

“I do.” she whispered, the words slipping from her lips like a secret. And with that, the space between them dissolved, and the rest of the world faded away.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Weeks passed and the seasons slowly shifted. The once oppressive weight that Y/N carried seemed to lift, not because it had vanished entirely, but because it no longer felt as unbearable. Stefano had been her steady anchor, his unwavering patience and tenderness guiding her through every storm, whether in her own mind or in the world outside.

They spent countless hours together–quiet mornings at the church, long walks through the fields when the weather allowed and nights where Y/N found herself curled up against him, talking about everything and nothing, her heart finally beginning to find peace. There were still moments of doubt, moments when she wondered if she was deserving of the love she was being given, but Stefano’s presence was a constant reminder that she was worthy, just as she was.

One evening, as the soft glow of twilight bathed the rectory in golden light, they sat side by side on the bench in the garden. The air was cool, the scent of blooming flowers mingling with the earth. Stefano had his arm around her shoulders, and she leaned into him, her head resting against his chest. There was no need for words—only the sound of their breaths, slow and steady, as if they had found a rhythm together.

“I never thought I could feel like this.” Y/N whispered, her voice soft but certain. “Like... like I belong. Like I matter.”

Stefano smiled, his thumb gently stroking the back of her hand. “You always mattered, Y/N. You just needed to see it for yourself.”

She looked up at him, her eyes filled with something raw, something tender. She had never imagined that this–a simple, quiet life, filled with love and understanding–was something she could have, but here it was. Here he was.

“I... I love you.” She said suddenly, the words spilling out like a secret she had been holding onto for too long.

Stefano’s breath caught in his throat, his eyes searching hers, as if to make sure she truly meant it. His hand gently cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing her skin. “I love you too, Y/N.” He replied, his voice thick with emotion.

It wasn’t the grand declarations of love she had once imagined, full of fireworks and dramatic gestures. It was quieter, more profound, something that had grown in the small moments, the shared silences, the understanding that passed between them like a silent promise.

Y/N felt her chest tighten with emotion as she gazed into his eyes, seeing the depth of his affection reflected back at her. The love wasn’t perfect, it wasn’t the stuff of fairy tales, but it was real. It was grounding. And it was exactly what she had needed to heal.

With a small laugh, she shifted in his arms, her hands resting on his chest. “I’m sorry for all the times I pushed you away." She said, her voice tinged with regret. “I was scared... and I didn’t know how to let someone in.”

Stefano’s fingers gently traced her jaw, his touch light. “You never had to apologize, Y/N. I never wanted to force you into anything. You’ve come so far and I’m proud of you. I’ll always be here, no matter what.”

The sincerity in his words hit her deeply. There was a security in his love that she had never known before. For the first time, she allowed herself to fully embrace the love he offered, without doubt, without hesitation.

As they sat together, the last light of the day began to fade, leaving only the soft hum of the evening around them. Y/N nestled closer into Stefano’s embrace, a sense of peace settling over her. She had learned, through him, that love wasn’t just about the grand moments or the promises made under the stars. It was about the quiet presence, the steady hands, the shared silences and the understanding that no matter the storm, they would face it together.

And so, as the night embraced them in its quiet beauty, Y/N and Stefano knew, without needing words, that this was only the beginning of their story. A story that had been born from pain, but had grown into something stronger, something full of hope, healing, and the kind of love that would last, no matter the challenges ahead.

For once, Y/N didn’t feel like she was just drifting. She wasn’t alone, and for the first time, she believed in the love they shared, the love that had healed her, that had shown her what it truly meant to be loved.

And in that moment, as she looked into Stefano’s eyes, she realized she was exactly where she was meant to be.

The end.

[lassify]

The Origins of Anya's Name

*Spoilers for Mission 11*

Thanks to the CDA discord for inspiring me to write this.

As someone who shares a name with our beloved main character, I am just now realising that I have taken for granted how 'Anya' goes through several different spelling presentations in the manga. Blame the people in my life who constantly mispell it, which has densitised me to all the versions.😂

So, I know none of you asked for this little etymology lesson, but here you go anyway 🥰

P1: Anya

'Anya' is the Anglicisation of both 'Anja' and 'Ania'. (It is, in my biased opinion, the best version.)

P2: Anja

Anya with a 'j' (still pronounced as a 'y') originates from Germany. On reflection, it's interesting that although SxF is set in a German-adjacent country, we never see this version.

P3: Ania

In the early chapters, many of you noticed that Anya's name was spelled "Ania" on the front of her door. This is actually not a spelling mistake, because "Ania" originates from Eastern Europe (e.g. Poland or Russia, but I lean towards Polish explanations because that is my ancestry).

The interesting thing about this version is that "Ania" is actually the diminutive of "Anna". Eastern European names tend to have a 'formal' version (the name on legal documents), and the 'diminutive' version, which is essentially a nickname that close friends or family would use.

In Polish, other examples of diminutives would be:

'Olka' for 'Aleksandra' (sound familiar?)

'Basia' for 'Barbara'

'Kasia' for 'Katarzyna'

'Joasia' for 'Joanna' (sometimes people will also use 'Asia' - pronounced 'Asha') - As a side note, this sounds a bit familiar to the previous incarnation of Anya's design, which I believe was 'Ashe'. Perhaps Endo just really like diminutives. Perhaps it's a coincidence.

I also think it's interesting that Yor carved this version first. I'm wondering if it relates somehow to Yor's background, for example if her hometown was bordering an Eastern European country, or if she knows anyone with this background.

If I were use the information from Mission 11 to create a hypothesis, it would be that Anya (the character) likely originates from a Polish/Russian/Eastern European country in the SxF world. I think because Endo has used diminutives for other characters (e.g. Olka), a country like this likely exists in this world.

(I've actually HC'd this for a long time, I've just never had a chance to bring it up...)

Secondly, because the name 'Ania' is also used by friends and family, it is also possible that Anya doesn't know that her formal/legal name might actually be Anna. I would like to believe that in Anya's pre-lab life, she learned that her name is 'Anya' because the name was spoken by someone who loved her.

I'm not sure why the scientists at the lab called her 'Anya' instead of her lab number: perhaps the lab is not located in her home country, and therefore the scientists wouldn't know that the actual origin is 'Anna'. Or maybe they use her diminutive because it is a manipulative tactic to get her to comply with their demands (by appearing more 'friendly'). Who knows.

This could potentially make the reveal of her past that much more heartbreaking, as we don't know yet how she ended up in the lab.

Finally:

I've seen so many more hypotheses and theories from this chapter, so feel free to add them on! Thank you for reading and letting me share my piece.

[y-so-hungry]

Hungry Beginnings

Summary: Y is watching a cooking show when his belly starts to rumble. This seems to excite him, and D begins to notice...

Notes: Hey everyone! This is a RP I did with someone, who wishes to remain anonymous, but was happy to share with you all our story! Hope you enjoy!

Tags: hunger kink, hand jobs, kink discovery, stomach growling, belly rubs, M/M

Read on AO3

Y sat on the couch next to D as he watched the show playing on their TV. It was some cooking show D had been into lately, and at first he hadn't been particularly interested, but as the hours passed he found himself more and more enticed by the dishes they were making. He absentmindedly picked at the chipped black nail polish on his right thumb as he stared at a chef piling a plate high with pasta. 

D, arm wrapped around Y's shoulder, felt a smile spread across his face as he watched his boyfriend become enticed with the show in front of them. He couldn't deny that the food looked delicious, and it had been a few hours since breakfast. Anyone would be taken in by such lovely looking pasta in a situation like that. "Careful you don't ruin your nails," D said, pointing a finger at Y's hand.

"Hm?" Y said absentmindedly. Eventually he glanced at his fingers and nodded before quickly turning back to the show. "Right." A peek of tongue slipped over his lips at the sight of the food and he tasted the metal of his lip ring.

The taste of it somehow made it worse, like there was something waiting for his tongue to taste, and his stomach suddenly rumbled quietly, sending color into his face immediately.

Curiously, D raised their brow. That sound definitely didn't come from the show; it sounded too close. Even if it did, why would it make Y blush like that? Unless...

"Did...you just fart?" D asked, arguably with less shame than he should have had.

Y laughed and shook his head, his face still a bit bright. "No it was my fuckin--" and just then his stomach growled again, rumbling loud enough to be properly heard this time. And felt actually; Y felt the sound curling through his abdomen, making his eyes go a little half-lidded, until it stopped and suddenly he felt bewildered, not entirely sure why he reacted in such a way. "...stomach," he finished.

D's eyes widened, and immediately slid down to Y's stomach. For someone who was never that large, Y was no stranger to a loud stomach; D could testify that from the past few dates they've been on. Though despite how hungry he was on those dates, he had never had such a...strong reaction before.

"Whoa..." sounded D, raising a finger to scratch the area around his nose ring. "You feeling okay, dude?"

"Oh yeah I'm fine just... Hungry," he says. Oddly just saying he's hungry seems to have an effect on him too, the color spreading to his ears. His face doesn't really look sheepish anymore, it's... Something else. His stomach gurgles again as more food is displayed on the screen, and he swallows.

D follow's Y's gaze and notices all the food on the screen. Dishes from steak to broth, even pies here and there; all of it looks delectable. Then a thought hits him, and it's enough to make him breathe a small laugh out of his nose. He turns to Y again. "Are you shy about being hungry? Dude, I've heard your stomach growl before, I swear it's not weird."

"No I'm not shy I just--" His stomach suddenly moans again and his head falls back slightly, eyes slipping shut. Fuck, why does this feel good? The way it's shifting his middle, the sound--it's nicer than Y ever realized. "J-Just didn't notice," he mutters, slightly breathlessly.        

The motion, the way Y's eyes delicately close, his breathy voice...it's enough to give D a sinking feeling in his own stomach, the kind that doesn't hurt but rather fills you with excitement. Even he feels a warmth spread across his cheeks. "Wow, um...I-I didn't realize that this show would get you so good," he chuckles awkwardly. He almost let slip an offer to give Y a hand job, but decided against it.

"Not sure it's the show, love," Y says with a small laugh. "My stomach... Feels really good for some reason. Being hungry. Not sure what the hell's goin' on to be honest." He does know for some reason that every time his stomach rumbles he seems to be getting harder. It won't be long before it's noticeable.

"Oh damn, it's your stomach that's turning you on?" D asks, cheeks still glowing but now filled with curiosity. This is so much more interesting than what's happening on TV. He even finds himself shifting over so he can get a closer look at Y's belly, gently placing a hand on top of it. "That's so weird...I mean, I've heard of dudes using vibrators to get off but using your own gut? That's kinda useful, huh?"

Y leans into D's touch, his stomach rumbling loudly under D's hand. There's a fluttering deep in his chest and suddenly he's significantly harder than he was before.

That's when he notices it. The just-about noticeable tent pitching in Y's pants. D can't deny the sudden acceleration of his heartbeat as he watches it grow and feels the rumbling in Y's stomach start to settle, nor can he deny the sudden switch up in his brain going from youthfully curious to...something a little more flirtatious.

"Maybe a little more than just useful..." he sing-songs, allowing his fingers to rub slow circles around Y's stomach. "How do you feel, babe?"

"I uh..." Y seems to have trouble answering as D begins to rub his stomach, the hunger increasing as he does so. "Good. Good I think just--just keep doing that. Fuck I'm starving..."

Something about the way he says that last part sends a chill up D's spine, and he starts rubbing faster than he intended. He bites his lower lip. "Damn, dude, I've seen you act adorable in bed before but this is something else...you look so dreamy..."

The sound from the TV draws his eyes again, and he notices that there's been a new round of food brought out. All of it looks just as good as the last, steam leaving the plates and fat glistening on every surface...if D watches any longer, even his stomach will start growling.

Y catches sight of that food and immediately his stomach starts grumbling against D's hand, incessantly. Moaning and begging for what's right in front of his eyes, desperate for anything to fill it. D can feel it shift and clench under his fingers, starved under his hand and Y squirms a bit, leaning more into his boyfriend's touch. "God, D, I'm so hungry..."

The littlest bit of sympathy fills D's chest, and he resumes the rubbing but is sure to be gentle this time. The sight of Y's red face makes his legs clench.

"I know babe, I know-" he softly kisses Y's cheek. "Your poor tummy's so loud...what does it feel like? When it growls?"

"It feels fuckin... Great, for some reason. That's weird as hell. Tight and pinched, and then it growls and suddenly feels better and worse at the same time. More empty, but that feels good too..."

"Huh..." D lets his eyes float to Y's stomach again, watching as it rises and falls with Y's breathing. "So it's like when you're usually hungry but amped up to eleven...damn, that honestly sounds pretty good."

Curiously, D looks down at his own stomach. It hasn't made any noise since he and Y started watching the show. A part of him wonders what it would feel like to be as hungry as Y is right now...

"Heh, guess it makes sense, haven't eaten all day really," Y mumbles. "Seeing at that food... I'm starved. And fucking horny, god." His stomach moans with hunger again, and he moans with it, arching his back into D's palm.         

D's breath catches in his throat. Even with Y's stomach growling as loud as it is, it doesn't compare to his desperate moaning. He's heard it so many times before, and yet now is when D feels his pants grow the tightest. "Fuck dude, you're killing me...do you want me to touch you, or something? You look so pent up..."

"Fuck at this point if you don't touch me I might die or something--"

D chuckles at that, and takes a deep breath as he lets his hand slide down Y's stomach and closer to his crotch. "Tell me if this gets weird, okay? I've never...masturbated someone over their own stomach before, so I don't know the whole schtick."

"This is completely new to me too, so I guess we're learning together," he says laughing a little breathlessly. When D touches him he immediately feels the pleasure increase tenfold, and he moans, his stomach growling even more. It's practically rippling D's hand, shaking it as he touches Y.

D's breath starts to quicken, his own hips jutting at the sight. He's never seen a stomach ripple before; he only thought that was a thing in cartoons. Seeing it happen in real life, accompanied by the sounds, and Y's face melting in pure ecstasy and pleasure, it makes him feel hot inside, like his chest could burst at any minute. "Fuck, babe, you sound so hungry. Anymore and I think you're gonna-"

He's cut off by the sudden jolt of Y's hips, and the near-whine that escapes his lips as the red in his cheeks flushes a brand new shade of red. D's hand feels warm. The entire room feels warm.

Y shudders as he finishes, slumping against the couch a bit as his stomach give a few smaller whines.

"Whoa..." D utters, practically dumbfounded. He removes his hand from Y's pants and immediately reaches for a tissue to wipe it with. "That was sooner than I expected. N-not that you're fast, or anything! I mean that...I didn't realize it felt that good for you..."

"Heh, sorry. I didn't know either. I can help you here in a second too, don't think I didn't notice that," Y says, glancing at D's crotch. "Just give me a second to get my fuckin... Brain in order again." 

D bobs his shoulders in a small laugh, tossing the tissue in the trashcan. "Hey man, if you wanna rest I can take care of it myself. Unless..."

His eyes wander to the TV again, spotting a new round of food brought to the tables and still looking as good as ever. He feels his mouth turn upwards in a smirk as his own stomach lets out a quiet rumble.

"...you wanna experiment a little?"

THE END

[j0kers-light]

Hey gorgeous, I was thinking about a storyline where y/n is a trained shooter from England who got the nickname bunny after almost killing all the rabbits in the country for shooting practice, and J recruited her as an assassin. Wouldn't that be so cool I imagine her in the hideout in like PJ's holding a coffee mug in one hand a riffel on her shoulder in the next.

Also I literally worship your work and I hope this finds you in good health 😘😘😘.

Hi hi @i-t--g-i-r-l 🖤✨

Please do not murder me!!! I made you wait since September 😭😭🫣

I wrote this with a severe headache and it turned into a short head canon? Think piece? I dunno!! I couldn’t think of how to extend it further so I kept it as is. Please don’t hate me!

Chaos loves you! If you hate it, I can try again 😞

No one understood why the Boss called in a random mandatory meeting so late in the night. Rules were rules so everyone piled into the commons room to wait for whatever the crazy clown had to say.

The loyal three were already seated in the front in various stages of restlessness. Frost had his arms crossed, already aware of what this meeting was about.

Mac was busy on his phone, reading the latest stock market info while checking his emails. Which left Neo half playing attention as he played a mobile game.

He really wanted to beat this level before Joker came, but that’s wasn’t looking very plausible.

The ‘game over’ screen pulled an annoyed groan from the marksman right as his boss walked into the room. Everyone’s attention turned to J in trepidation.

He could be announcing anything from a random execution to free doughnuts in the kitchen.

“Good evening, uhh gentle..men. I have a big ann-ounce-ment! I’ve ah heard your complaints. We need a new recruit to help lighT-en the load for our dear Neo. Sooooooo, I hired the best assassin I could find!”

Now that got everyone’s attention, including Neo’s.

Another expert assassin? This would be his partner in the field and he wouldn’t accept just anyone. J's choice would be interesting.

It was only natural that Neo became star struck when a beautiful woman shuffled into the meeting room holding a, “I’m not yelling, I’m British” mug with a polished riffle slung over her shoulder.

You ignored the shocked expressions in the room in favor of the kitchenette in the corner.

You took your sweet time looking around but you came up short of what you wanted. They had an impressive coffee machine, but no kettle. It was only then did you glance up and acknowledge your new Boss and all the men staring at you.

Joker knew what was coming when you arched an eyebrow. “Where’s the bloody tea? You wangle me ‘ere an’ skim on my essentials?”

The room was silent. Your thick English accent and appearance had everyone speechless.

You were a sight for sore eyes at 1am. Your fuzzy pjs had cute bunnies on them and you completed the look with matching slippers, all the while going off about tea in a room full of criminals. This was straight out of a fever dream.

Joker didn’t seem bothered. “Hehe, gentleman, I’d like you to meet our newest recruit, Bunny!”

Someone in the back coughed. Mac shook his head and continued scrolling on his phone, whereas Neo was still too awestruck to speak.

How did Joker managed to get you stateside, much less on his payroll? You refused to work for anyone so the rumors went.

You didn’t like being ignored and tipped your riffle to point it at Joker. The entire room gasped at your audacity. “Are you gormless, mate?”

Before Joker could figure out what you were saying, Neo finally came to his senses. He rushed forward, putting himself in between you and an angry Joker.

“Sup, it’s nice to meet you in person, Y/n. I studied all of your kills.”

Now that got Mac’s attention from the stocks. Neo being respectful? Mac and Frost shared a look. You seeing this?

You were rather impressed yourself. “You must be that Neo lad J spat on ‘bout.”

You set your mug down and offered him your hand. “My reputation crossed the pond eh?” You asked. Neo was cheeky and kissed your offered hand instead of shaking it.

“You kiddin'? You're practically famous! You single-handedly almost drove the bunny population to extinction in York. Your range is sick! And your confirmed kill list? D__n, Ma. I’m more than a fan.”

You turned to J smiling, “I like ‘tis one.”

[rock-dove-radio]

Fun Fact I am affected by heavy synesthesia and decided to document a few silly things! When i read certain words / letters / numbers i see colors and taste things! As well as with listening to music i see visuals and taste things etc Feel free to ask questions i love answering!

Long post but basically i list brain associations so stuff under cut if you care to read

Anyway to the interesting stuff 😋😋

Color Flavors

🔴 - spicy and bitter with some sweetness. Makes my chest hurt

🟠 - Not sweet or sour it's like a uhh a snow cone

🟡 - frostingless sugar cookie

🟢 - butter

🔵 - steak

🟣 - those little mini cake things they have at weddings

⚫ - sweet and crunchy but has a dust residue like a handful sprinkles

⚪ - pineapple gummy bear

💗 - Walmart birthday cake

Colors / shapes i see when listening to artists

Lemon Demon - navy blue trapezoids and red triangles

Tally Hall - yellow circles and white diamonds

Will Wood - green squares and purple spiral circles (?)

Marina - pink bubbles and white sparkles

Lovejoy - light blue arrows facing downward

Penelope Scott - black semicircles

Mitski - slate colored trapezoids

TV Girl - gray rectangle

Weezer - green boing boing dog toy idk how to describe it

TMBG - orange semicircle really stretched

Oingo Boingo - green circles

Letter and Number Color Associations

A🔴 B🔵 C🟡 D🟢 E🟡 F🔴 G🟤 H🟤 I🔵 J🟣 K🟣 L🟣 M🟤 N🔵 O🔵 P🟣 Q⚫ R🔴 S🟡 T🟣 U🟣 V🔵 W🟣 X⚫ Y⚪ Z🔵 0⚪ 1🔵 2🟢 🟡 4🟡 5🔴 6🟢 7🔵 8⚫ 9🔴 10⚫

Day of the week Equations

10 x 0 = Sunday, 100 - 46 = Monday, 25 - 11 = Tuesday, 4 x 4 = Wednesday, 7 x 7 = Thursday, 5 x 5 is Friday, 10 x 5 = Saturday

Day of the Week Colors

Monday is Black Tuesday is dark blue Wednesday is dark green Thursday is dark purple Friday is yellow Saturday is lavender and Sunday is gray I don't make the rules

School Subject Colors

Math is red, Science is green, social studies is blue, literature / English is purple, art is also green

Number Flavors

0 - the chemicals you blow bubbles with when you accidentally get it in your mouth

1 - plain cracker you get in restaurant baskets

2 - gummy worm that's really old

3 - Doritos

4 - hamburger

5 - giant hot apple left in the sun 2 hours

6 - green apple

7 - steak fajita

8 - grape juice

9 - Hot Dog

10 - seat belt

Smells and Tastes regarding Music

Lemon Demon - lavender candle smell, taste like burger

Tally Hall - rusting Metal smell, taste like cold butter just taken out of the fridge

Will Wood - old church carpet smell, tastes like communion wine

Marina - tropical car refreshener smell, taste like putting a pen in your mouth

Lovejoy - smells like sea salt, tastes like sea salt chocolate

Penelope Scott - smells like rotting wood, tastes like Coca Cola

Mitski - smells like soap, tastes like Christmas cookies

TV Girl - smells like perfume drowning out body odor, tastes like ham sandwich that got ketchup on it

Weezer - smells like hamburger, taste like banana

TMBG - smells like antique store, taste like Olive Garden bread

Oingo Boingo - smells like barbecue, tastes like those big ass erasers people would poke with their pencils in elementary school

Misc

My Name - smells like vanilla perfume from bed bath and bodyworks, tastes like cheese pizza, is the color gold

Five Nights at Freddys - smells like cigarettes, tastes like burger (WHY DOES EVERYTHING TASTE/SMELL LIKE BURGER), is the color purple

Electric Dreams 1984 - smell like a city in Mississippi i went to 7 years ago, taste like red velvet cake, is the color hot pink

The number 999 tastes like watermelon

Pinterest app smells like nail polish and popcorn

Spotify taste like Gatorade

[tojikai]

I just finished the “home” series, i just found your account yesterday yet all that’s left for me to read is “permanent mark”🙃

Like the “fix you” series, i ended up with alot of questions which is weird because i don’t have any for sundered but then again, im more of a toji girl

Questions:

- why did toji cheat?

- What happened in their marriage for it to get like that?

- did he ever truly fall out of love?

- do you have any plans for another story series?

- what would’ve happened if she hadn’t died?

- would’ve he regretted it or come back to her eventually?

- did he think of her daily after her death?

- how was he feeling after her death, years after?

- why did he put his mistress over his wife?

- Does he love his mistress more

- what’s up with the whole thing he did/him putting her over his wife

- what was his thought process when it first happened and after it kept happening

- ik he said he didn’t love hana but why would he cheat and basically put her over his wife if he didn’t?!?!

- i read 3 out of 4 stories so far and it seems like there a pattern of dudes putting someone they think they love yet don’t over someone they do or love more, is there any reason’s for it

Just me rambling about the story and your other stories:

I know he did but i hope toji suffers so so so much more until his last breath! (He did but I hope it felt like it was infinite for him😌) also Fuck hana! Wtf😭😭 if only toji didn’t fuck up bro its so sad, im hating yet understanding him?? If that makes sense, actually no not understanding but sympathetic towards him in the first ending ig but still fuck toji!!! I felt bad for him and then the next life chapter??? With his thoughts wtf and putting hana over y/n again😭 fuck toji!! he basically emotionally cheated if i was y/n i would’ve lefttt!! I swear your y/n’s are saints compared to me shhsjs

Your stories are so beautifully written yet so sad

I love them even if i might hate the love interest lol

Im More of the resentment type so it feels so silly to say this especially over a fanfic(but then again all of yours are so wonderfully written) but your stories i guess have made me possibly see things in a different light: like ppl do make mistakes and can change or genuinely regret them or that people can maybe hurt the people they love which is so weird for me to say because its a story and also im the type to refuse to believe you can love someone after you treated them so badly or cheated on them. Ig ur stories have made me realizes humans make mistakes and they aren’t BAD people for it butt the pppl they hurt doesn’t have to take them back nor forgive them or they can and it lean to something better than what would’ve been if they ended things

Note:

Im so sorry if im asking too much and i hope im not bothering you, i just tend to talk alot regarding things that i get invested in and i get so curious sbsjsj

Im probably writing this much because im so sleepy right now haha (my apologies especially if i wrote so much nonsense or I didn’t write/explain things wellh

thank you in advance if you answer 🫶i appreciate it, have a good day/night🖤i hope y enjoy the remaining of summer! Tysm for creating these masterpieces ‼️

hiii omg thanks so much, im glad that you enjoyed them <3

- to answer the first 3 questions: toji cheated bc he was bored. i have no excuses for this man in home series bc he really cheated bc their rs was getting a bit dull for him. do u know that point they say in some lovers' relationship. the drought, the feeling similar to "falling out of love" but they say not to leave your partner during this time bc that's when true love begins? yeah that. 🥹 he didn't really fell out of love but it's like a similar feeling to it.

- as for plans for another series, i'm thinking of doing a mini one. i have a draft here just waiting to be polished and published.

- if yn didn't die, hmm... assuming they stayed together, it's gonna be a very dead relationship. bc yn is so so tired. not just emotionally but mentally too. she's gonna have a hard time believing that toji still loves her even if he tried to explain. she's gonna be very reserved and visibly uncomfortable around him, thinking that he doesn't really want to be w her and just staying out of pity. she's gonna limit herself, and the love that she shows him. it will ultimately end in divorce, and he's gonna end up not wanting to sign it.

- yes, toji would've still regretted it even if yn didn't die. he's bound to come back to yn eventually. the day he left, he never planned on staying with his mistress for long. he just went there bc he was frustrated and he's trying to run away from yn's confrontation and the consequences. deep inside he was hoping that yn won't push through w the 'divorce.'

- for the 7th and 8th question, yes toji thought of yn every day and every night. the onyl time he's not thinking of her is when he's swarmed with work. but even during those times, his mind wanders to her still. the feeling that he felt when he learned of her death and discovered how she prepared everything for him and his new life was how he felt his whole life. it was never lessened. if anything it only got worse w time.

- for the 9th, 10th and 11th question: no, he didn't love his mistress more than yn. he left and put his mistress over his wife bc he thought that's what he wanted. there was a sense of thrill, the feeling of being with someone new that pushed him to act like that. as mentioned in the home series, his pride took over and he thought that that's the freedom that he wanted but it wasn't. it was too late when he realized that. you really don't know what you got until it's gone. he thought yn's gonna be there forever and that's why he kept choosing to go to his mistress not knowing that yn's days were numbered and that he's about to lose her.

- when he first cheated w her out of pure lust. there was no deeper meaning to it. and then it kept happening bc he found escape and thrill in it. other than that, she gives him a different type of attention, something new.

- w hana it was the attraction that made him act like that. im not saying all people, but some tend to be nice to attractive people and they don't even notice that to impress a new one, they end up neglecting another one. other than that, it's bc they work together. he doesn't plan on getting it on w her tho. he loves yn.

- i just like the thought of them making mistakes to learn from LMAO but i guess the difference is in fix you, his wife's dead. it's the lack of appreciation for the present and being stuck in the past. while in sundered, uhm it's a lot of pride and he did love Naomi tho. she was so good to him. (except that 'thing' she tried to do)

it makes me happy when people say they learn something from the content i put out🥺 the fact that you guys read my masterlist also makes me happy bc it makes me realize that literature really do make something immortal AAAAA i enjoyed reading this and answering your questions~ thank you so much for the love and support you give my stories <3 hope you're having a great week ~!!

[inexplicifics]

On the topic of names, Yennefer and Jaskier having different first letters seems to be a result of the English translations for the books, which influenced the names in the games. I’m no expert, though. I just find things about translation/localization interesting when I come across them.

Yennefer’s name could be spelled with a J, but they changed it to a Y so that people reading the books in English would pronounce it with a soft J or a Y sound instead of the hard J that they might expect in Jennifer.

Jaskier’s name literally translates to “buttercup” in English. The English translator for the books decided to keep the flower-theme instead of the original name, but chose Dandelion instead of Buttercup. Maybe they thought Dandelion looked and sounded better? Or liked that it sounds like the word “dandy”?

Then Netflix decided to keep the bard’s Polish name instead, but leave it as Jaskier while also using Yennefer. Some factors for keeping this spelling of his name could be that his name doesn’t match the spelling of a common English name, the name is more likely to be spoken instead of read in a show, and this is more accurate to the Polish word.

So, basically, different versions of the series made by different people at different times took different approaches to names. And translation is tricky.

Translations! Whee!

Thank you for the comprehensive breakdown!

[loverholland]

strings attached

pairing: rich kid! fuckboy! fwb! tom holland x rich kid! fem! reader au | request | original | prompt summary: no strings attached was the agreement. word count: 4,700 warnings: mentions of drinking, mentions of mary j, mentions of friends with benefits relationship, & sexual and strong language used. a/n: this is, as requested, fuckboy tom but kind of with a twist. i hope you enjoy this, nonnie!

Going to a party wasn’t really a part of the agenda for today, it was quite the contrary. She had been stressed from working as an intern at her father’s company in Northern London and was going to spend her night unwinding to the newest Bachelorette episode while doing a face mask and sipping on the wine her mom bought her earlier in the week. She wasn’t too sure why, but she appreciated the thought. But the night turned around when her best friend, Cheryl, aka Cherry, had told her that Tom was going to a party, one that she didn’t know about. She didn’t originally want to come, she knew how it would look, and it wasn’t her favorite look. It made her look obsessive in a way, but she didn’t think she was. Cherry was the one who asked, not only because of Tom, but because a few of their mutual friends were there. So, Y/N agreed.

Y/N: hey, i’m going to be at a house party tonight! if you see me, text me! :) x

She wanted to keep it casual and like she wasn’t going to be in the same place as him. But she knew that 217 Liberty Avenue was exactly where he was. She felt wrong for being here. Wrong for letting Cherry bring her to the same party Tom was at. Y/N sighed as Cherry interlinked her fingers with Y/N’s. They stood outside for a moment, the loud rap music pounding the walls.

“Did he reply?” Cherry asked, big green eyes looking up at her.

“No clue.” Y/N replied honestly, moving her free hand to her back pocket of her black ripped skinny jeans and pulling out her phone. She went through the Face ID and pressed on the light green icon to see her messages. She saw his contact and her message, biting her lip. She pressed his contact, darting to the Read at 9:45pm tag. She felt a pang in her heart and a helpless breath of air leaving her lips, her shoulders slugging and fingers unlinking as she locked her phone again. “No. He didn’t.”

“Oh sweetie,” Cherry’s hands touched her shoulders and she laid her head on Y/N’s arm, which was partly covered by the dark green, silk Gucci shirt she was wearing. It was much like Tom’s and she hated that it matched, especially when they’re going through whatever they’re going through.

“I’m sorry. He’s not worth it anyways. We can go drink and have the time of our lives, alright?” She smiled, eyes growing large as she began to drag Y/N to the door. It was white and large and was pushed open with very little force. The music became louder and the lights were dark with pink and green disco lights. It was fucking fantastic and she wished so deeply she had a gram of ouid on her or something. But, she didn't, so whatever.

Cherry dragged her through the crowd of people and into the kitchen where the liquor sat out. Cherry immediately got a recyclable shot glass and one of the bottles, pouring 2 shots out.

“One shot for you,” she pushed one glass to Y/N. “And one for me.” She smiled and picked up the shot glass, raising it. Y/N did the same and clinked theirs together. Y/N pressed the lip of the shot glass against her strawberry red lips and tilted her head back, allowing the nail polish remover to run down her throat.

“Gross.” Y/N started and sat the glass down, looking at Cherry.

“Oh, whatever!” She laughed, “I’m going to make you a drink.” And with that, she bounced off, heels clickity-clackiting across the floor. Her blonde curls bounced over her shoulders and she made sure she was known to be there, such a big personality for such a small human. Y/N sighed and leaned against the counter, fingers tapping on the wood. She was bored but she didn’t want to look at her phone. It reminded her of Tom, weirdly enough. Being reminded of him wasn’t bad, oh God no, it was quite nice. She couldn’t help wonder what he was talking about and how the words would look forming across her lips. If he was thinking about what it would be like to completely destroy her in the closets bathroom. Maybe taking her in the back of his car, again, before taking her back home to properly do the job. She definitely thought about it and it made her miss him more.

Y/N bit her lip as she battled with herself on actually looking at her phone. Another huff and suddenly her phone is up and being unlocked with Face ID. Y/N admired her home screen for a moment, a picture of her, Tom, Harrison, and Cherry at the Eiffel Tower in París. They had gone on vacation a few months back together after she officially graduated with her Bacholors. The photo was bright and they each held a champagne flute. Tom’s fingers were interlocked with hers and they both shared bright smiles. Y/N loved the picture and she often wondered if Tom knew that was her home screen.

Y/N tapped on the yellow Snapchat icon, swiping left immediately to see the stories posted by her friends. Cherry was first, a few snaps from before she had left her apartment to meet with you. Then a video of her doing a shot. Typical. Then it was Y/N’s younger sister, Charity, a 16 year old who was basically Y/N’s younger twin. Charity and a few of her friends had gone to the country club today. Playing golf and going swimming, the typical things. Tapping on, was Harrison’s story. There was a video of Harrison and Tom taking a shot, Tom’s face scrunched up and he stuck out his tongue.

“Gross.” Tom said disgustingly as Harrison laughed.

Y/N giggled and with another tap she was at Tom’s story.

He had posted a shirtless picture to his private story, a bulge very prominent in his grey sweats. Was this in the story only meant for her? Yup! Fuck. He looked absolutely delightful, but with another tap, she saw a photo of him with a girl in his lap. She rolled her eyes and swiped down and off of the stories before swiping to the camera. She sat her phone against one of the many bottles, stepping a few feet back to take an equally hot picture of herself. She made sure to accentuate her hips and her chest, throwing her head back, the way she knows Tom likes. Her hair draped loosely over her shoulders and then, the picture was done. She checked it, made sure that it was up to her standards before adding a GIF to go along with it.

Before she knew it, a hand clasped over her shoulder, making her jump out of fear. She turned around quickly, stabiling herself with the counter, mentally readying herself to start swinging but it was only her best friend who was standing in front of her with a large grin on her face.

“Try it!” Cherry smiled and pushed the red solo cup into Y/N’s hands. Y/N looked down at the brown liquid in the cup, raising an eyebrow at Cherry before bringing the edge of the cup to her lips and taking the smallest sip of it. It tasted like the drink she almost always gets; fireball and coke. Y/N could laugh at the way Cherry whispered a soft “How’d I do?”

Y/N smacked her lips and smiled at Cherry. “You did perfect.” Y/N complimented. “Fireball and coke is a good choice.”

“Well, I know that it’s usually what you get and you told me explicitly that you could not have anything other than fireball, which I still don’t understand because fireball makes you angry sometimes and I don’t know if you’re looking for a fight, but all I’m saying is to let me know before you start throwing down with some bitch because I need to make sure I get it on video.” Cherry rambled, leaning onto the counter to try and leverage herself.

“I’m not going to fight anyone.” Y/N responded, sipping on the drink again. Cherry laughed a pitiful laugh.

“You say that and then someone's going to look at Tom wrong an-” Cherry paused and with wide eyes, looked at her best friend. “Oh no, I'm so sorry I-”

“You're right. I promise I won't fight anyone tonight.”

Cherry smiled and lept onto Y/N, arms catching her neck in a hug, one that Y/N was all too familiar with. She wrapped her arms around Cherry's waist and squeezed her for a moment.

“I love you.” Cherry whispered into Y/N’s ear.

“Ditto.”

And with that they separated. Cherry smiled up and her before kissing her cheek and removing herself completely.

“Do you mind if I go find Charolette? She said she was going to be here.”

“Yeah. I'll stay here.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. If anything changes I'll text you.” Y/N smiled and Cherry returned it, skipping away as her heels clacked against the hardwood floor.

And there Y/N was, once again, alone. Y/N sighed and turned so her back faced the archway, unlocking her phone again and going to respond to a few of the messages she had ignored. This wasn’t her best idea, by far. She didn’t want to be here and knowing that Tom was with someone else and didn’t tell her, made it a bit worse for her. But, Cherry wanted her to have a good time and she would. Especially when they get to go to a breakfast diner later, which was all Y/N needed to be convinced to come out tonight, other than her friends, of course. But she was just tired. Annoyed.

“Y/N?” a familiar voice sounded, causing Y/N to jump again. Damn. She turned on her heel quickly, looking at the blonde man standing in front of her. Harrison Otwrfield. Tom Holland’s best friend and one of her most seen friends. He's not a close friend of hers, not even a “friend”, some would say. More of an acquaintance, if anything. But he was always with Tom and she saw Tom regularly, making Harrison a regular with her. But she  didn't trust him. Not for a good reason, she just doens’t trust blonde men, just something about them screams WRONG WAY!

No clue why, they just do.

“Hm?” She hummed, hiking one of her eyebrows up. She lifted her drink and took a large swig before titling it to point at him. “Go on, what do you need?”

“I didn't know you were going to be here.” He simply stated.

“I could say the same.” She looked him up and down. “Daddy’s money” screamed from the Rolex on his wrist and the Gucci belt he wore. “Want a shot?” Y/N asked, turning her back to Harrison, taking the closet vodka. Blue raspberry. How cute.

Taken aback, Harrison chuckled. “You already have a drink.” He mentioned.

“So? Is that a no?”

“Your limit is like 2. Plus, Tom would kill me if you got too drunk.”

“Oh, so now you're watching out for me?” She scoffed, turning around with both shots in between her fingers. “It's one shot compared to the drink I have.”

“Which is?”

“None of your business.” She snapped. “If you're asking for Tom, you can tell him he can ask himself.” She sat the extra shot glass down before tapping the remaining one, throwing it back in a swift gulp.

Y/N grabbed her drink, palm over the opening just so no one can easily slip anything into it. She didn't know where she was going, but it was going to be the next less crowded space in the house. She had to push past bodies, some would give her looks and others would call out her name to get to stop and talk. But she never did, she just continued walking past and towards a corner on the other side of the room. It was small but there weren't many people and it was still in view of the dance floor, so she could give Cherry an exact location. Y/N much preferred to be reliable when they go out and drink. She's had one too many times of over drinking and needing a sitter and not having one, that's when Cherry came into the picture. She was somehow a saving grace and Y/N just wanted to offer that back to her.

Y/N let out the air she had been holding, relaxing her shoulders for a minute. She reached and grabbed her phone and opened her messages, going to Cherry’s contact

Y/N: i'm over by the backyard door. it's close to the DJ area. had to move bc of Haz.

She knew this wasn't the best type of buddy system but it's always worked for them. They have their location for one another on everything and they share their location at all times. Y/N wouldn't let anything happen to Cherry and vice versa. Neither of them ever wanted to overstep when they partied so having a system where one person can drink a little bit but not enough to inhabit them to walk home. The other one on the other hand can drink as much as they want. Sometimes if they had rides, usually Tom and Harrison, they both would drink. But only them would they both be wasted together.

Y/N lifted her drink and repositioned her hand before taking another large swig. She watched over the party, tapping her fingers along to the music. It wasn't good but it was okay. She knew exactly what she wanted to listen to so she unlocked her phone, pulling up Cherry’s contact again.

Y/N: come meet me over here im going to put on Majesty and we HAVE TO DANCE TO IT!

She quickly went to the phone on the chair, the phone was unlocked and already on Spotify. Nice. Um… Search… Majesty… Nicki-Aha! Y/N swiped left and queued the song, going into the already queued and moving it up to the 4th song. Enough time for Cherry to text her back.

Y/N finishes her drink by the time Cherry shows up. She’s alone, unlike many of the times before, but her pink lips still wore the cheekiest smile.

“Missed you!” She said and Y/N repeated the words back. “When's the song going to play?”

“After this one.”

“Okay!” Cherry clapped, taking one of her hands and grabbing Y/N’s, taking them close to the center of the dance floor. Cherry stood in front of her, her hips beginning to move and her arms rising above her. “Let’s move, baby!”

The song started a minute later and Cherry took Y/N’s hands again, moving them so that Y/N would begin moving her hips a bit, and it worked. Time stopped for a moment as they dance and sang together, Cherry turning to dance against Y/N, giggling as they danced with one another. Their hands interlinked as Y/N helped spin Cherry a bit, dropping low with her and following the lead of her best friend. The song naturally fell from their lips; one of the most listened to songs for both of them and the movements were rehearsed in their kitchens, bedrooms, bathrooms and anywhere whenever the song came on.

They even had specific parts they would sing in the car with one another. Y/N and Cherry took turns rapping Eminiems words as they danced with one another as the highway’s went by. The world all melting together while they drove down with the sunroof open and with the windows down, the world all becoming a memory. A memory that she cherished every day of her life.

“Like I'm a meteorite, and motherfuck the fucking media / Right in the behind, I'm a human encyclopedia / I must be like pie crust because I was bread to rise like I was yeast.” The girls screamed to one another and as the next words came up and the syllables left Y/N’s lips, there was a voice she knew all too well.

“And you're never gonna reach these heights / They're just too high to reach / And I ain't even reached my fuckin' highest / You better pick another game / try hide-and-seek-” Thomas fucking Holland rapped in her ear. His voice was low and one of the sexiest things she’s heard him do. He always said he hated this song and he just comes out here bang rapping? Y/N deeply swallowed as Tom’s rough hands touched her bicep, squeezing softly.

Y/N turned and looked at him. She could feel Cherry’s hand on her shoulder as well. Tom’s face was stone cold, red with frustration, she assumed. His eyes held so much annoyance that she was concerned about whatever was going on because he didn't have a right to be angry at her dancing with Cherry, right?

“Hi.” Y/N greeted.

“We're going home.” Tom said sternly. Y/N went to fight back but Cherry squeezed her shoulder.

“I think he's right.” She agreed.

“What?”

“We're going home.” Tom removed his hand from her bicep and instead draped his arm over her shoulder, guiding her to the front door. Dumbfounded by Cherry's agreement and Tom's sudden intimacy that he refused to ever show in this sort of public eye. The hand holding pictures are only some that are taken, they always take some holding hands and then some where there's no touching.

She bumped into people as she was led towards the door, which Tom opened for both of the women he was leading out. Harrison was standing at his black matte BMW, arms crossed as he watched the three of them walk out. Cherry walked from around them and towards Harrison. Was this planned? Y/N’s eyebrows knitted together in curiosity.

Tom led Y/N to his car, not saying anything. It was a white Lexus, one of the newer models. It had red leather seats and matte black accents. She absolutely fucking loved his car, for more than one reason but she couldn't imagine him wanting to fuck after they've both drank. They both agreed a long time ago that we won't sleep together if we're drunk, at least right now.

Tom opened the passenger side door and Y/N ducked in. Settling on the warm leather that summer brought . Tom walked over to the driver side, settling in before looking over at Y/N, eyes looking over her body. The black sheer lace hugging her torso like none other, and the ripped black jeans looked fantastic. Not to mention the black heels she wore. Her hair fell perfect around her face.

“I thought you didn't like Majesty?” Y/N murmured, a hand buckling the seatbelt before crossing her arms.

“I don't.”

“Oh whatever.” She kicked and looked out the window. Tom huffed and pressed a few buttons, a woman's voice saying “bluetooth'' spoke up and he did a bit more. She didn’t watch him, she just knows from all the times before when she did watch him. Tom would do this every time they left somewhere, he refused to listen to the radio. “What playlist are you putting on?”

“Does it matter?”

Y/N scoffed and rolled her eyes, turning her head to look at him. “Why of course it does. You know it does! I don’t want to sit in whatever this is without a good playlist at least.”

“What don’t you want to sit in?”

Y/N took a deep breath before releasing everything she’s wanted to say. “Everything that’s been happening over the past few weeks. You’ve ignored my texts and my calls, you never come over anymore and everytime you post on your story it’s something suggestive and all I want to do is tell you how good you look but I don’t feel like I can because you’re not even talking to me.

I don’t understand what’s changed because I would tell you how fucking good you looked and you always responded. Not just to those texts but you responded to every single one. Showing up to parties, wanting a cuddle buddy or just need someone to talk to. You’ve always been there so what fucking happened?”

Tom stared at her for a moment before smiling and shaking his head, pressing the start button and putting his left hand on the wheel. Tom looked over his shoulder and began to pull out from his spot, completely ignoring Y/N’s question. She scoffed and leaned her head back dramatically, rolling her eyes.

“What’s wrong now?” He asked.

“Answer my question.”

“Why?”

Another scoff from her lips. “Because I don’t understand it! You ignore me one minute and then you’re taking me home planning…” she gestured with her hands “...something! I don’t understand what’s happening, Thomas! If you want to end this, then fine! It’s ended, no worries because no strings attached right?” She ranted, tears swelling in her eyes, choking back tears.

“We’re not going to talk about this right now.” He huffed out, falling back into the driver’s seat. “We’ll talk about it later.”

“When’s later? A month from now when you get off your high horse?”

“No, I just want to be parked.”

There was a moment of silence while the soft music from their Fast Approach, a classical playlist. She’s so frustrated but she knows he’s right for wanting to be safe and she couldn’t blame him. “Fine.”

Tom rolled his shoulders and sighed, turning up the volume so that 4 Romantic Pieces played over their thoughts, which were consuming her mind. She felt so much adrenaline, not really knowing if she was in the right but goddamn she was sick and tired of him not answering her. He never acted like this before, all touchy and quiet about how he felt. He always let you know when he didn’t like something. Anytime some guy would begin to dance with her, he always seemed to fuck her like no other had, jealous would rush through his veins and he would make sure that everyone knew she was supposedly his. Leaving bite marks and bruises up and down her breasts and neck.

The drive back to her apartment was long and drewey. She didn’t want to hear his reasons for not talking to her. She was afraid of her heart being broken like time and time again. She would never admit the crush on Tom that she gained with their relationship. No one truly understood that it wasn’t purely just a flirtatious or sexual relationship and it was hard for her to accept the romantic feelings that she slowly began to develop.

They saw each other almost every single night. They would binge watch shows or make playlists and drive around the city. They would get take out and go to bookstores and they made each other one too many things. Too many to throw out, that’s for sure. Fuck, Tom had a drawer at her apartment! He always kept a nice suit at her apartment, gray joggers, a hoodie, a few shirts, changes of underwear and his toiletry products. She had much of the same at his apartment, just adding in some make-up. She found so much peace in his touch, love in his kiss and releif in his words. She couldn’t imagine him going away.

She couldn’t imagine this going away. She’s upset, sure, but the world was everything to her because of him. He took her on drives around the city, always pointing out things. Always taking her somewhere new, whether it is to a new bar or some high class restaurant. She would tell him about the little things, what she appreciated out of life. She would tell him everything and anything he wanted to know, amazed by her mind. She had a Bachlors in Buisness Management from New York Univerity. She wanted a Masters and possible a PhD. She was beyond smart and he couldn’t imagine how her brain works and that’s what he loved most, he told her everytime she said something he didn’t know. The words always followed with a sincere smile.

He’s everything she ever imagined. He’s everything she’s ever needed and the way her heart began to break over the idea of losing him was a lot. Too much in some ways.

She watched the streetlamps pass and took a deep breath as Tom pulled into the parking lot next to her apartment building, bringing the car to a stop in one of the open spots. Y/N didn’t watch him as he turned off the headlights and still didn’t budge when he turned to look at her, a hand gripping the stearing  wheel.

“So,” Tom pursed his lips. “Want to talk about it?”

“Fuck you, Tom.” She laughed and tilted her head down as she tongued at her cheek. “I just want to know what happened. It’s fine if you want to end it. I don’t care, okay? I just want to understand and have a solid ending.”

Tom sighed and turned to face the front again. He stared through the windshield, at the bushes in front of them. It was silent with only Moonlight Sonata by Beethoven and Luke Woodapple playing in the background. Y/N sniffled once or twice as she tried to control the intense emotions of frustration begin to welt up in her eyes. She just wanted answers and once again, he’s not answering. He’s leaving her hanging again.

“What changed, Tom?”

The question was much quiter than everything she had said before. Finally letting the tears roll down her cheeks as a flood of emotions hit her all at once. Everyone felt like it was falling apart and the world wasn’t going to stop turning for her. She had never felt such heart break. Not even when she was stabbed in the back in college or when her “high school sweetheart” cheated on her. Nothing could compare to this pain that her heart felt.

“You.”

The world paused for a moment as the words registered in her brain. What does he mean her? There’s no fucking way. She stared at Tom, arms unfolding as tears continued to fall down her cheeks and onto her chest. So many dots felt like they still weren’t connected, but at the same, so many were connecting. Y/N wanted to protest, but Tom beat her to speaking.

“Haz has been on my arse about this for the last month, okay? He’s known forever and Cherry started hopping on the train. I don’t want us to end, I just don’t know what to do because this wasn’t the plan. The plan wasn’t to fall in love with you. You just… changed everything for me. You bring me soup when I’m sick and you let me come over when I can’t bear to be home. There’s no one with a touch like yours and…” a huff as Tom pushed his loose curls back. “...I didn’t know what to do than to get other girls to replace it and no one did and then you just because home and you just became everything I needed. I don’t even know when it happened or how, it just did and now, here we are.”

Tom sighed, giving Y/N the softest smile as he gestured as a way to say ‘there you go.’ And there it was. Her questions were answered, in a way. The worries she had before were now gone and although her heart still ached, she also felt calm. He felt the same. Y/N laughed softly as she wiped the tears, sniffling as she continued giggling.

“What’s funny?” He asked. “You can’t just laugh at me when I’m telling you there are strings attached.” He whined, making Y/N laugh a bit harder, looking over at him.

“Just kiss me, loser.”

[screadingchallenge]

Behind the Keyboard: Volume 9

Behind the Keyboard is a series of interviews with different Schitt’s Creek fanfic authors. The series will last as long as there is interest (from authors) and capacity (from me). If you are an author from the Schitt’s Creek fandom who would like to participate, send a DM to this account.  

Each author was given ten questions. The first five questions are the same for every author, the last five will vary.

Remember, this year’s Reading Challenge begins July 15, so polish up those MFL lists.

Let’s meet our next author:

@missgeevious / missgeevious

How many fics have you written?

22 for Schitt’s Creek

When did you publish your first fic on AO3?

I started posting All the Songs I Sing Are About You on 12/20/2019. It’s a retelling of one of my favorite romcoms, Music & Lyrics. It was part of a fest, and the first fic I’d ever written. I had no idea what I was doing. Hitting “post” that first time was t e r r i f y i n g, but I got so many lovely comments from people who really seemed to like it, and that was it—I was hooked, sucked into this writing life that is amazing (and sometimes awful) and which has brought me friends I treasure. Someone who especially loved that story, vivianblakesunrisebay, ended up becoming my beta and good friend. 

Describe your writing process from “Oh, I have an idea” to pushing publish on AO3. 

Process? I don’t know her.

Fine.

It’s something like this:

a) Have a shiny idea that excites me.

b) Flail and yell about the idea a lot to whomever will listen.

c) Realize I have to actually write something to make it happen and whine about that

d) Write

e) Complain

f) Repeat steps d and e until everyone in my friend group is borderline ready to kick me out of the club.

g) DM Houdini and whine more

h) Complain and Write

i) Repeat g and h until Houdini regrets everything

j) Fling it at Houdini and Viv for beta

k) Repeat prior steps as necessary until *I* am so sick of it all that I want to post it just to be done with it.

l) Realize summaries and tags are a thing and whine about that

m) Post and promptly realize I forgot or messed up a dozen things and go back in to fix them.

BONUS STEPS

n) Worry that what I wrote sucks spectacularly and no one is telling me.

o) Refresh and worry that I messed up posting somehow.

p) Repeat steps n and o until I remember/re-convince myself that it doesn’t matter if anyone else likes it because I did the thing and should be proud I finished it.

Tell me about your most recent fic? What do you love about it? Is there anything you think you could have done better?

My most recently posted fic is Nothing About This Was Proper. It’s a fic I started a while ago that ended up fitting a little collection I did with some friends. If that collection hadn’t come along to motivate me, the story would probably still be languishing in my WIPS folder. I’m terrible at talking about what I like about my own fics (hello, imposter syndrome is so real). I guess I like my set-up in that one—the whole thing with the dog being the catalyst (ultimately) for David & Patrick getting together, and the banter in the car (David’s position that the dog is trying to “assault” him). As for what I could have done better, I would’ve liked to tie up some of the loose ends (e.g., whose house were they in and those folks coming home to find them), but the fic was already getting long and the deadline was looming so I focused on getting the boys together. 

What advice would you give to someone who’s thinking about publishing their fic for the first time?

This question assumes you’ve written the fic already, which is a huge accomplishment. Congratulations! You’ve agonized over making it the best you can, no doubt spending time and energy and likely putting a bit of your heart in it. Finishing a story is hard work—as opposed to starting a story, which is usually easy and fun, in my experience. You should absolutely publish that story and give folks the chance to enjoy it. Make sure you also take some time to be proud of yourself. You did the thing! You saw it through from start to finish! That’s huge! 

Weirdest thing you’ve googled as research for a story?

Heh. When I was writing the bathhouse fic (Thank God. It’s You) I did a lot of googling that was, shall we say, enlightening? I forgot to use a private browser half the time, too, so my ads got real interesting.

How has writing fic changed you?

Writing fic has brought me friendships that have changed me for the better and a hobby I (usually) love and a new life goal of publishing a novel. I think it probably had an extremely beneficial impact on my mental health during the pandemic as well. 

Most memorable comment you’ve had on one of your fics?

Oh, gosh. This one is really hard to answer. I can’t think of a specific one. My pal weathereyehorizon’s comments regularly make me feel like I could slay dragons and I love her for them. Overall, the comments folks made on All the Songs I Sing were life-changing. They helped me believe I might be good at this and should keep working at it. 

Would you rather find a title or write a summary?

I’d rather write a title. They usually come to me by the time I reach the end of a story and I kind of like coming up with them, but figuring out a summary is always difficult.

Do you remember the first SC fic you ever read?

I do not. I wish I did!

[bugsyfics]

Could’ve Just Asked

Yami Sukehiro x Reader

Fandom: BC

Summary: After touching one of Captain Yami’s most prized possessions, Y/N finds herself on thin ice.

Warnings: Smut/notsfw, spanking, masturbation, very slight praise and domination

Word Count: 1.3k

————•————•————•————•————•————•————•————

Captain Yami was out with the other members of the Black Bulls upon request of the Wizard King. Today you weren’t needed, because you visited him a couple days prior about the new mission. While you could’ve gone anyway, this was a good time to catch up on some well needed cleaning. You dusted, moved someone’s random pair of shorts, and threw away an oddly immense amount of trash. You got to the split corridor and took a little detour down the men’s living quarters. You’ve only been down there a couple times, but curiosity was getting the best of you.

There was no denying that you enjoyed looking at your captain and often wondered how he would feel on top of you, but because of the dynamic you two shared it made it almost impossible to express how you felt. Since you’d joined the Black Bulls, it’s always felt deeply inappropriate how hot this man made you with only a couple words or a pat on the back. It was even worse when you two would train alone, away from the others. Maybe your little flirts weren’t enough for him to catch on or possibly he was simply ignoring your advances.

As you passed Yami’s bedroom it took everything in you not to look at his door. You walked a little further, but quickly turned on your heel to walk back towards his room.

“Hm, I don’t know if I… no…” You contemplated intruding while your hand remained on the doorknob.

“Fine.” You opened the door.

It was… normal? A small pile of clothes and an unmade bed but nothing out of the ordinary. You did notice though, a shimmer from across the room. After quickly shutting the door, you made your way to the glimmering object to find a brand new katana placed against his nightstand. You knew it was a bad idea, but you really wanted to see the beauty of this finely crafted sword. You pulled it out slightly admiring the polished finish — possibly too long to not notice Yami entering his room.

“Get out or I’ll kill you!”

“Ahh! I’m so sorry! I’ll leave, j-just let me explain!” You sputtered hoping he wouldn’t kick your ass.

“I was cleaning a-and I wandered down the hallway a-and I saw your room. Then I-I saw—”

“Shut the hell up!”

“I’m sorry capitan,” you apologized.

Why did you have to keep doing stupid shit like this? No only did you invade his privacy but you also touched his brand new katana— Yami’s katana. Shit, you put your position in the squad in jeopardy and ruined the chances of him ever being interested in you. What would the other squad members thi—

“Hello? I asked you to hand it over,” Yami pointed to the sword with his eyebrow raised.

“You’re being creepy…” he continued and eyed you.

Yami grabbed your arm and released the katana from your grip. He laid the sword flat on his palms and pulled it out completely, inspecting it.

“Well, I guess you didn’t mess it up too bad. You know, acting like a dumbass and all,” Yami spoke and shook his head.

You opened your mouth to protest but remained quiet instead.

“You came in here just to look at a sword? Gonna steal it or somethin’?”

“No, I was just snooping. It was rude of me,” you muttered.

“Stop apologizing. Don’t care, just don’t do it again,” Yami grumbled.

He closed the katana back down into its scabbard and sighed.

“Ok, get out,” he spoke suddenly and walked you to the door.

After you walked out, Yami leaned against the doorframe.

“You know Y/N, you don’t have to sneak around. If you wanted to visit and talk you could’ve just asked,” Yami laughed and closed the door.

Did he say visit? What did that even mean? Well, you were just glad you made it out alive. Your palms were sweaty and after that encounter you needed a cold shower.

The next day...

After breakfast, all the squad members sat in the main room chatting. You assumed no one knew about what happened the day before, but you sat by yourself just in case. Well, not entirely by yourself since Zora was across from you snoozing, as always.

“Be quiet and sit down,” Yami clapped his hands together, “I’m sending a couple of you on a mission.”

“Julius needs to speak to Asta, Finral, and Charmy again. So, go do that or whatever,” Yami announced nonchalantly and sat back down to read the paper.

Everyone else traveled to the Noble Realm to shop or went outside to train. You quietly sat and drank your coffee hoping no one would notice that you were missing.

You heard a gruff voice from above you, “Y/N, come here.”

Yami?! What does he want? He stood over you and motioned you to follow.

“Yes, captain.”

You both ended up outside his room.

“What are we—”

“We have free-time. I thought you wanted to talk,” Yami shrugged.

“Sur— I mean, yeah we can,” you smiled awkwardly.

Yami sat down on his bed and stared at you, blowing out a puff of smoke from his cigarette. You stood against his desk, in the corner of the room, assuming it wouldn’t be appropriate to sit on his bed with him. The uncomfortable silence made you flustered and you slightly pinched your leg to right yourself.

“Are we gonna stare at each other all day?” Yami surmised.

“I don’t really have anything to talk about necessarily,” you spoke.

“Mhm, ok well we can leave—”

“Wait! I-I mean um… hold on. Tell me about your katana, please captain,” you blurted.

“You wanna hear about my katana? Nothing else you want to talk about?” Yami asked.

“Yeah… Well, no. I’m just interested in learning about it. It looks like it’s made with good craftsmanship.”

Yami stood suddenly, pulling his katana from the holster on his waist and motioned you over. He sat back down on his bed and waited for you to join. You awkwardly sat beside him and you couldn’t help your cheeks from turning bright red from the closeness.

“Put your hands out,” Yami instructed, “The blade is sharp so don’t do anything stupid.”

The sword laid balanced across both of your palms.

“The handle is called tsuka,” Yami began and stroked the top, “...and the blade is called sori.”

He took two fingers and slowly ran them across the surface of the blade.

“The only authentic ones are from back home, but since I haven’t gone back, I get them imported.”

“Wow, it’s a really beautiful sword,” you admired softly.

“Mhm, it’s quite… personal to me,” Yami cleared his throat and grabbed the katana from your hands.

He glanced over at your face with an unreadable expression and shifted away.

“I think that’s enough talking for today. I’m gonna take a nap,” Yami rushed and stood from the bed.

“Can I come back tomorrow?” You asked quietly and walked to the door.

Yami pulled his cigarette from his lips and crushed the butt into the cigarette tray on top of his nightstand.

“Eh, I don’t know… I think today was enough,” he responded curtly.

“Did I do something wrong?” you began to pry.

Yami stood silent staring at you for a moment. He finally made his way over, and towered over your small frame.

“I hate it when you act innocent,” Yami growled lowly and tilted your chin upwards slowly, “You know exactly what you’re doing, princess.”

“Captain… What are you talking about?” you questioned, puzzled by his sudden change in mood.

“I haven’t caught on for a while, but I’m not stupid. You like when I tower over you like this… or when I command you to do what I want,” Yami taunted and rested his hands above your head.

“You snooped in my room because you couldn’t get enough of me, huh?” Yami chuckled and stared deeper into your nervous gaze.

“C-captain I-I,” you stuttered and clenched your thighs together to suppress the tingling from your core.

“There’s no need to confess, Y/N. I already know how you feel,” Yami said. “I guess I was a little oblivious. I thought you had a childish crush, but it seems like there’s something more.”

Yami scratched the back of his head and his eyes traveled down your body to your clenched thighs. With one hand still above you, the other traced down your side and gripped your thigh gently. He began to rub small circles on your skin with his thumb.

You bit your lip and glanced up at Yami’s dark gaze from under your lashes.

“D’ya like that princess?” he teased as his hand traveled further underneath your skirt.

“Yes captain,” you sighed.

You were soaking through your panties and you were nervous about what Yami would think. His low voice and his digits pressed on you made your skin burn.

Yami’s eyes grew a little when he reached your panties. He took his middle finger and ran it over your heat feeling how your wetness pooled under you.

“You want me to touch you some more?” Yami spoke into your neck.

You nodded eagerly, opening your legs wider for his massive hand.

“Mm…”

Yami rubbed faster over your clothed pussy. He pulled his hand away and leaned down to your ear.

“Get on the bed. Head down and ass up, now.” Yami ordered you.

He could tell you liked being dominated, but you also like being praised and he stepped into that role nicely.

You scurried over to his bed and did what you were told. A little part of you wanted to push him further.

You reached under your skirt and played with yourself, bucking into your hand. You pushed your ass out and turned your head to watch him.

Yami cooly walked to his nightstand, grabbed a cigarette and lit it while he watched you. That was definitely not the reaction you expected.

Smoke billowed out from his lips as he spoke, “That’s a nice show you’re putting on. Maybe you can get yourself off instead.”

“Wha- no, I was just—”

“Touch yourself,” Yami demanded.

He watched as you hesitated and moved your hand away. Yami roughly pulled your hand back under you, placing it on your core.

“Do it.”

You had no choice other than to play with yourself in front of him, but it was technically your fault. You gently rubbed over the fabric and grazed across your aching pussy. The constant friction of the panties across your clit made it difficult to stay steady on your knees. You moaned incoherently into the bedspread and began slowing your movements.

Yami grabbed a handful of your ass and smacked it harshly, “Faster. Keep going like a good girl.”

“Yam-Yami please. I c-can’t…” you panted.

“Do I have to tell you again, princess?” Yami threatened while pinching your ass.

“No, sir… but I just need you,” you pleaded and grinded into the air.

With a grunt, Yami pulled you to the edge of the bed with your ass propped. He tore your panties off of you and spread your pussy open to rub harsh circles on your swollen bud, making your toes curl.

“Mm fuck. That feels so, so good, captain!”

“Something tells me this is your favorite place to be touched,” Yami chuckled, quickening his movements.

You bucked harder, fucking yourself down onto Yami’s hand.

“Shit, it looks like your gonna come, princess.”

He pulled you back into his chest and continued his movements while you came undone. You felt yourself on the brink of tears as you slumped down into Yami’s arms. You heard him breathing hard behind you as his erection poked into your lower back.

“Damn princess, that was only the first round! Hah! I knew you weren’t that innocent,” Yami teased and wrapped his arms around your waist.

————•————•————•————•————•————•————•————

A/N: I hoped you like this Yami smut! Thanks for reading 💕

— bugs

[atlafan]

Part One - “Call me Jane.”

a/n: here’s part one of nanny!H, I’m very excited about this series. I’m not sure how many parts it’s going to be, so please don’t ask lmao. Once I know how many parts it’ll be, I’ll make a master post for it. I’m just too excited not at least share the first part because Harry is just too cute in this! Feedback and reblogs are super helpful, and keep me motivated, especially when it comes to writing series. (not proofread) You can support me here if you’re able!

Warnings: none...for now

Words: 4.1K

Pairing: Harry x OC (Jane Watson)

Master Post

Harry found himself in a real bind. He was twenty-six years old, had an early childhood education degree, and the daycare he worked at was going under. He had just been promoted a month prior too, how could things go wrong so quickly? Times like this he really hated that he stayed in the states. Childcare services weren’t nearly as fucked up back home. His dream was to save up enough money to open up his own pre-school at some point, but it was really tough.

There was this weird stigma that if adult men wanted to work with babies and toddlers then that made them a pedophile or something of the sort. That wasn’t the case with Harry. His minor in school was psychology because cognitive development intrigued him. He also loved babies and little ones. He loved watching them learn and discover.

Only now, he was without a job in an already struggling field. He and the other employees weren’t exactly given a big notice before they were told the business was going under. Harry mostly felt bad for the parents of the kids that had to find new child care centers. He knew he’d have to compete with his co-workers for any available jobs, and he knew they were bound to find places before him because they were women. It was their fault, and he knew it. He was experiencing a prejudice that they must face all the time.

He looked into Care.com, but none of the jobs on there seemed like long-term gigs, and he didn’t want to just be a glorified baby sitter. He figured if he could find a well paying nannying job, he could do that for a bit until finding a job at a new facility, or even set up his dream pre-school. During his search on Indeed, he saw a position for a live-in nanny – jackpot! Live-in meant long-term, and long-term meant lots of money. It also meant he could get rid of his apartment and not have to pay rent for a while. He clicked on the ad that was posted only a couple of weeks ago.

Live-in Nanny Needed for Help with Eight-Month-Old

Minimum requirements:

·        Bachelor’s in either early childhood education or elementary education

·        At least two years’ experience working babies/children

Three professional references required

Applicant is subject to thorough background check for the safety of the child and mother.

Other tasks as needed include:

·        Cooking

·        Light cleaning

·        Grocery shopping/running other errands

If applicant is selected, they will be paid a flat rate of $1600 bi-weekly, will live in “in-law” section of the house, and a car will be provided for them. A resume, cover letter, and three professional references may be sent directly to jpwatson@gmail.com

After reading everything over, this seemed like Harry’s best bet. Some of it seemed a little too good to be true, but this was a risk he needed to take right now. He just hoped the position hadn’t already been filled. That night he spent some time updating his LinkedIn, making sure all of his privacy settings were up to date on all of his social media, and then wrote out a resume and cover letter. The last part was his least favorite because he knew a proper resume and cover letter had to be curated to the specific job, and it made things all the more tedious. By the time he was done, it was late. He didn’t want to seem unprofessional, so he waited to send the email until the next morning.

Subject: Nannying Advert on Indeed

To: jpwatson@gmail.com

From: hes2194@gmail.com

Good morning,

My name is Harry and I’m interested in the nannying advert you’ve posted on Indeed. For the last four years I’ve been working at P.B. & J.’s Child Care Center, and was recently promoted to team lead. Unfortunately, the business itself couldn’t remain afloat, and I was laid off.

Attached are my resume and cover letter. I’d be happy to provide the three references if I end up being considered for the position.

Thank you for your time and consideration,

Harry

Treat People With Kindness

He closes his laptop with a satisfied sigh after proofreading his email ten different times before he hit send. He takes a sip from his coffee, and sits back on his sofa. Now all he had to do was wait.

//

There was radio silence for two days. Harry was starting to think he would need to keep job hunting. He had bills to pay, and the last thing he wanted to do was ask his parents for help. They already looked down on his profession as it was. If he had his own car he’d become an uber driver or something, but he didn’t so he couldn’t. Then, by some stroke of luck, at 4:55PM on a Thursday, he gets an email from the address he had been hoping to see pop up.

Subject: Re: Nannying Advert on Indeed

To: hes2194@gmail.com

From: jpwatson@gmail.com

Good evening Harry,

My name is Jane Watson, thank you so much for your application. My apologies it has taken me a couple of days to get back to you. I am usually more responsive, but things have been a little crazy at work as of late. Upon further review of your resume and over letter, I would like to offer you an interview this Saturday at noon, if you are available. I can be flexible if that day and time do not work for you.

If you are able to come, and are still interested in the position, I ask that you please bring your references with you. I will want to call them right away. I am sure you can understand me wanting to thoroughly look into you before letting you into my daughter’s life.

I look forward to hearing back from you soon.

All my best,

Jane

Harry responded to her right away, he didn’t care how eager he seemed. He told her Saturday at noon worked great, and that he would definitely have his references, and anything else he needed to provide. She emailed him back an hour or so later with her cell phone number and address. For the first time in a while, Harry felt like he could breathe again. He knew it wasn’t a done deal that he’d be getting the job, but he was being given a chance, and for that he was thankful.

//

He wanted to make a good first impression on Saturday, so he made sure to wash his hair in the shower, and use his good mousse so his hair would look more orderly. He shaved to give himself that clean and sleek look, this was not a day to appear scruffy. He knew he didn’t need to be overly dressed up, but he also knew that you’re supposed to dress for the job you want and not the job you have. He irons a pair of tan slacks and pairs it with a blue button up. Not to brag, but his bum looked great in these slacks, and it was giving him all the confidence in the world. He puts on a floral tie, just to show a bit of his personality, makes sure his nail polish isn’t chipped, and makes sure all of his rings are looking shiny. He takes an uber out to Jane’s house. It was in a gated community, which he was expecting since he looked up the house beforehand. He wondered what she or her husband did for work to live in a place like this. Or perhaps she inherited the home? Either way, he was excited.

He thanks the driver, and knocks on the door as he was instructed to do. A woman with silver hair that was up in a nice bun opens the door.

“Hello, you must be Mr. Styles.” She smiles.

“Yes, hello.” He smiles back.

“I’m MaryAnne, please come in.” She steps aside to let Harry in.

“Thank you.”

“Miss Watson is just pumping, but you can wait for her here in her office.” She leads Harry down a corridor where he meets a grand double door. MaryAnne opens them and shows him inside. “Make yourself comfortable, dear. Can I get you anything? Coffee, water, tea?”

“I’m all set, but thank you very much.”

The woman nods and leaves him in the room alone. He stays standing as he didn’t want to assume where he should be sitting. There was a gorgeous desk with two chairs on the other side, but there was also a small round table with four chairs around it in the corner. She clearly held a lot of meetings here, or so it would seem. To pass the time he looks over her bookshelves, scanning over what she might be into. She seemed to be into fiction, but he had never heard of any of the books on some of the shelves, or the author. She had several by the same person. Before he could look further, he heard the clacking of heels on the hardwood floors approaching him.

Everything stopped when she walked in. Jane had her hair up in a flowing ponytail, a white blouse covered her top half, he notices that the first few buttons were left undone, probably to help with her pumping, and she had a black pencil skirt on that just came to her knees. She was short, and a little voluptuous, not that Harry was checking her out.  

“Hello, Mr. Styles, I’m sorry to keep you waiting.” He goes to stick his hand out for her to shake, but she walks around him and sits down at her desk. “Please, have a seat.”

He swallows and sits down.

“Y-you can just call me Harry if you like, Mrs. Watson.”

“I’m a Miss not a missus.” She says as she takes out a folder with a few sheets in it and a pen. “It says here you graduated Summa Cum Laude from Lesley University. That’s an incredible place to get a degree in education.”

“Thank you, I got a pretty decent scholarship, it was my reach school. I minored in psychology as well. I did my practicum hours at a daycare center that specialized in caring for children with disabilities. So, I’ve worked with all sorts of children. I prefer working with infants and toddlers, though.”

“And why is that?” She looks at him, clicking her pen, ready to take notes.

“Well, I just have more fun with them, to be honest. I like watching them discover new things. My favorite thing to do while working in the baby room at my last job was working with the babies on their tummy times. It was always rewarding to watch them get stronger. I feel like I just bond with them better.”

“I need to ask you some personal questions since this is a live-in position.”

“Of course.” Harry nods.

“Are you in any sort of relationship with anyone?”

“No, I’m single.”

“Have you ever been arrested, or do you have any sort of criminal history?”

“No.”

“I’m not one to judge, I think everyone deserves a second chance, I just have to ask these sort of things.” She says.

“I don’t have a criminal record, Miss Watson.”

“History of drug use?”

“I smoked a bit of weed when I was younger, but I don’t anymore. An edible once in a while, maybe, but never when I’m on the clock.”

“Just marijuana?”

“I’ve done shrooms a few times, but nothing other than that. Stupid kid stuff.”

“Again, not judging. I’d prefer you don’t have any drugs in the house, unless they’re for medical use. I know edibles can be prescribed by doctors for anxiety and whatnot.” Harry nods at that. “What about alcohol? You’re twenty-six, you must enjoy a drink after a long day.”

“A glass of red once in a while, sure.” He nods. “But I’m not really a heavy drinker, I never have been. I’d say if anything I’m a social drinker, but you watch me carefully at a party you’ll notice that I nurse the same drink.” He smirks.

“I’m the same way. A little bit of a buzz is fun, but anything more can be a bit scary. I actually cannot remember the last time I had a real drink.” She looks off in thought.

“Well, can’t you drink now that the baby’s here?”

“And have to succumb to a pump and dump?” She scoffs. “No way, that would be a total waste. It’s torture enough to sit there while a machine sucks the milk out of my-“ She stops herself. “Sorry.” She shakes her head. “Anyways, your resume was impressive, and you were quite articulate in your cover letter. You’re the only candidate I’ve invited for an interview.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” She nods. “I really wanted someone with experience, not someone fresh out of college looking for a place to live. You’d really be okay with living here?”

“Honestly, you’d be doing me a favor. My long-term goal is to either have a daycare or pre-school of my own someday. Not having to pay rent for a while would really help me save up for that.”

“That’s an incredible goal to have, Harry.” She smiles, impressed by his ambition. “What questions do you have for me?”

“I just want to clarify, your daughter is eight months?” Jane nods. “And what’s her name?”

“Lilly.” Jane smiles.

“That’s a beautiful name.” Harry smiles. “Why exactly do you need a live-in nanny?”

“I work a lot.” She sighs. “And I’m a single mom. I want her to always have someone here that she can depend on and feel comfortable with. Sometimes my work drags me out in the middle of the night, or I have to take a phone call at an odd hour. I just want someone else here in case I can’t be if something comes up.”

“So, her father’s not in the picture?”

“No.” Her features sour a bit. “He doesn’t even know she exists to be perfectly honest with you. I found out I was pregnant after we broke up, and I decided not to tell him about her. He was a deadbeat moocher, he would have been useless.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, but thank you for telling me. May I ask, how old are you?”

“Twenty-nine, does that matter?”

“No! No, I was just more so curious. You seem pretty successful to be in a home like this. In the advert, you stated I’d be given a car as well, that’s not exactly cheap.”

“You’ll be given access to one of my cars.” She says. “I’m not giving you a car, make no mistake about that.” She smirks. “I’m an author, a successful one.” Harry tries to think if he’s ever heard of a Jane Watson before, but he’s coming up blank. “You’ve never heard of me because I have a pen name. If it’s all the same, I don’t really want to share it with you. Not yet, anyways.”

“Sure…wait…are you offering me the job?”

“Not quite. I’d like you to meet my daughter. I want to see how she interacts with you.”

“I’d love to meet Lilly.” He smiles.

“Great, before we do that, do you have more questions?”

“Yes, who’s MaryAnne? Is she, like, a maid or housekeeper?”

“No.” Jane laughs. “She’s my personal assistant. I usually answer the door myself, but pumping took a bit longer than usual.”

“When did you publish your first work?”

“When I was twenty.” She smiles. “I was still in school, and I decided just to self-publish. It took off, and a few companies reached out to me. I eventually got an agent, and the rest was history. I’m a fast writer, I’m able to churn out more projects than most people, and for whatever reason they keep becoming hits. One of the reasons I travel a lot is that a couple of my works are being turned into television shows, and working out those contracts is a lot. I want to be a part of the process to make sure the stories are told correctly.”

“That’s incredible!”

“it is.” She nods. “I never thought I’d be a television producer, but here I am. I don’t really want Lilly around all that, so there’s another reason for having a live-in nanny.”

“This may seem like a silly question, but will I have time off?”

“Oh my goodness, of course! The salary is negotiable as well. You’ll have weekends off, as well as all bank and national holidays. You’ll also earn vacation time and sick leave like at any other job. You’ll be given a benefits package as well, if you need health insurance.”

“You…you provide stuff like that?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I?”

“I’ve just never heard of a nannying job quite like this before.” He blinks. “It feels too good to be true.”

“I’m just a firm believer in compensating someone properly. I believe in investing in the people you have.”

“Right.” He swallows. He almost starting to feel like he was going to be her sugar baby or something, but he obviously knew that wasn’t the case. “You asked me about my dating life, what about yours?”

“I’m also single. Lilly is my top priority, and then comes my work. I’m completely fulfilled as is.” She stands from her desk. “Come, I’ll give you a tour of the house, and of the in-law space, and then you can meet Lilly.”

“Okay.” He stands up and follows her out of the office.

She shows him the living room, which felt more like a study. There was an entertainment room with a huge flat screen, deluxe loungers, a pool table, and bar. She shows him to the kitchen which was equally as extravagant. She brings him upstairs to show him all of the bedrooms.

“This is Lilly’s room.” Jane says proudly.

“it’s beautiful, I love the light purple.”

“So do I.” She says. “My room is down the hall, don’t think you need a tour of that.” She laughs and they head back downstairs. “Here’s the inside entrance to the in-law, but there’s also an exterior entrance you can use…or if you have guests over.” Harry’s in awe of the space. It was larger than his apartment. “It’s a one bedroom flat essentially. There’s a full bath en suite, and there’s a half bath over there. Open concept kitchen and living area. It’s fully furnished as well. Feel free to decorate it however you like. I just ask that this space stays yours. There’s really no reason for you to bring Lilly in here, you know?”

“Sure, yeah. This is amazing.”

“I’m glad you like it. Let’s just hope Lilly like you.” Jane smirks, and they head back to the main part of the house, and into Lilly’s playroom. She was sitting with MaryAnne in a large rocking chair. “M, you can feel free to go back to your office if you like. Harry’s going to get acquainted with Lilly.”

“Of course.” MaryAnne stands up with the baby, and hands her over to Jane.

“She has an office here too?” Harry asks.

“Of course she does, and one of the guest rooms upstairs is hers to use when she needs it.” She kisses the top of her daughter’s head. “Lilly,” she coos, “I have someone I’d like you to meet.” She gestures for Harry to take her, and he happily does so.

“Hey, baby girl.” Harry coos. Bright hazel eyes look up at him in wonder. He lets her latch onto his index finger. “It’s so nice to meet you.” He looks at Jane. “She’s precious, Miss Watson.”

“Isn’t she?” Jane beams. “She’s really been enjoying her bouncy, and messing around with her blocks. I have some CD’s I like having her listen to as well. Oh! We did a paint with pudding night as a sensory play thing, it was a hoot.” She chuckles.

“Those are great, aren’t they? Very stimulating, and it teaches the child that sometimes messes are okay.” He looks down at Lilly and smiles. “May I sit with her in the rocking chair?”

“Please!” She gestures to it, and she sits down on the loveseat in the room. Harry sits down with Lilly, cradling her carefully. He adjusts her so she’s able to stand on his lap. She bounces herself and giggles. “Look at that!” Jane exclaims. “I love it when she does that.”

“She’s awfully sweet.” Harry smiles, and then he looks at Jane. “How much do you feed her?”

“I give her roughly twenty-four to thirty-two ounces a day. You’ll know how hungry she is or isn’t in the moment. I’ve started giving her pureed butternut squash, mashed bananas and strawberries, she’s got that puffed baby cereal as well. I’ve also started giving her ground chicken in really small doses just to get her some protein, but right now I’ve mostly been sticking to fruits and veggies. You must know a lot about what foods to give a baby?”

“I do.” He nods. “You’re still producing that much milk to give her daily?”

“I’ve almost been wishing I’d dry up. I get so sore somedays.” Jane sighs. “But I figure it’s good for her to have it while I can still make it. I’m not opposed to formular or anything…but I like bonding with her in that way. I got rid of her baby acne by rubbing my nipple on her skin, it was like magic.”

“It’s certainly a trick of the trade.” He smirks at her. “I remember learning that in one of my courses, and I was amazed. You all are super humans.”

Jane watches Harry play on the ground with Lilly for a bit. Harry was already so wonderful with her. Harry starts to smell something, and so does Jane.

“Think it’s time for a diaper change.” He chuckles and picks her up. “Would you like me to change her?”

“Yeah, I’d like to see you do it.”

He brings Lilly over to the changing table, and lays her down.

“I know you’re all warm and cozy, but I need to disrupt that for a moment.” He says to the baby girl who was babbling and blowing little spit bubbles, totally unbothered. Harry unsnaps her onesie, and lifts her legs to detach the diaper. His eyes widen at the type of diaper that’s on her. “You cloth diaper?” He looks at Jane.

“It’s better for the environment.” She shrugs. “There’s a trashcan for the…um, poop, and there’s another can for the diapers. I give her a regular diaper for bedtime just because it’s easier to change her in the middle of the night and in the morning, but daytime I use the cloth diapers.”

“Makes sense to me.” Harry disposes of everything, and grabs a few wipes to clean Lilly up. She took a powerful stinky.

“I blame it on the pureed peas.” Jane laughs.

“It doesn’t even phase me anymore, honestly.” Harry says as he gets a little baby powder on her. He grabs a spare cloth diaper, and gets it on her. He snaps her onesie back together and lifts her up. “There we go, good as new, darling girl.” Lilly blows some bubbles at Harry, and blows some back, making her giggle. Jane beams at the two of them.

“It’s about time for her afternoon nap. Would you like to put her down?”

“I’d love to.”

Harry carries Lilly upstairs with Jane. She flips on Lilly’s white noise machine, and makes sure her favorite blankies are in the crib. Harry sits down in the large chair in the corner of the room and starts to rock her gently, giving her soothing rubs. Jane watches as Lilly’s eyelids start to droop. She fights it at first, but Harry continues to soothe her until she’s out like a light. He carefully stands up and sets her down into her crib. The two back out of the room quietly, and make their way down the stairs.

“Let’s go back to my office.” Jane says, and Harry follows her there. Once they’re both seated, she starts speaking again. “Well, the job is yours if you want it.”

“Really?” Harry felt every worry from his life leave his body.

“Yes.” She chuckles. “You’ve really impressed me, and I think Lilly’s quite taken with you already. I’d love to have you as her nanny.” She takes out a few forms. “May I have your references? The background check will take about a week. How soon could you start after that?”

“Right away, honestly.” He hands her a sheet with his references.

“Here are the tax forms you’ll need to fill out, a form for direct deposit, and some information on your benefits. You can get everything back to me by the end of next week.”

“I can’t thank you enough for this opportunity, I’m so excited. I can’t wait to get started, Miss Watson.” He stands to shake her hand, and she stands as she takes it.

“Please, you can call me Jane.”

[comfortwriting]

Prankster and the Prefect - F.W

Masterlist, Requesting Rules, Writing Prompts

Fred Weasley x Fem Ravenclaw Reader

Prompt 11: Screaming for your life, you were suddenly silenced by the hand that covered your mouth. 

Requested/About: Fred, the class clown and ultimate prankster meets the stereotypical perfect Ravenclaw prefect through his brother George. Upon their first interaction together, she already hates him and he already wants her more than any other girl at Hogwarts - but when the two of them are trapped in the broom closet together, everything changes. 

Warnings: swearing, losing virginity, smut, mention of erotic literature. 

In any other world, you and Fred would most likely be causing havoc together - pranking people, skipping class and getting up to no good, but in this world no such thing would happen; because you’re the perfect prefect who puts your education first. 

In any other world, you and Fred would most likely be prefects together - comparing your grades on each test, polishing your badges together and ensuring that no one is breaking any rules or causing trouble at Hogwarts; but in this world no such thing would happen because Fred is the trouble maker, who would rather be classed as a criminal than a prefect. 

Little did you know, your worlds would collide. 

Walking into Muggle Studies bright and early, you sat down and got your books, parchment, feather quill and ink pot out of your heavy bag and neatly organised them on your desk. Looking across the room, everyone else was already here, ties of blue, yellow, green and red sparkled across the room; everyone in pairs but you. 

Professor Burbage eyed the room and sighed when she spotted the empty chair next to you but without hesitating she began the class. 

“Today the person you are sat with is going to be your partner for your upcoming project” she announced.

George Weasley entered the class with his head down, slightly embarrassed by his late arrival, he sat down next to you without any of his study materials - he went even redder in the face noticing your neat display. 

You chuckled and shook your head, reaching back into your bag and pulling out a spare parchment, feather quill and ink pot. Pushing the extras across the desk, George smiled, his eyes meeting yours. 

“Thanks” he murmured softly.

You smiled at the shy Gryffindor “Anytime, keep them.”

George Weasley wasn’t a stranger in your life at Hogwarts, you didn’t know him but you knew of him before he paired up with you in that class. You were aware he and his twin brother got up to no good with their pranks and skiving snack boxes - but getting to know him and to spend time with him one on one made you like him a lot more than you thought you ever would, striking an unlikely friendship. 

“Come on Georgie!” Fred begged “introduce us, she must be one of a kind if you’re able to be friends with a prefect”

George sighed and continued to walk around the library, you were sitting at a desk with your head in a book, reading everything you could about Muggles. 

“Alright, Y/N?” George called out. 

You looked up from your book recognising the voice and met eyes with George, smiling at him, you noticed his twin brother standing behind him, smirking. 

“Hey George-”

Fred barged in front of his brother and out stretched his hand, a grin spreading across his face.

“Hello gorgeous, I’ve heard so much about you”

You stated back at him and cocked up a brow and refused to shake his hand.

“We’re running out of studying time, George”

It was from that first interaction that Fred became crazy about you - each and every time he laid eyes on you, the hunger in his heart growled for more.

Fred wanted you, he would make sure that you would become his - no matter what and he didn’t shy away from making you know it. Each and every time he passed you, Fred would compliment you and flirt with you, sending winks your way; wanting you more than he did the day before. 

You ignored each and every compliment and wink, rolling your eyes and disliking Fred even more than usual - you would rather have a full on conversation with him than deal with his flirting. 

George spent less time with you over the rest of the month, you found yourself alone in the library and alone in Muggle Studies - you knew wherever George went, Fred would be with him. 

The twins started to mess with a box full of snakes outside the Trophy room, eager to finally get the adrenaline they had been chasing. 

“Okay Freddie, I think it’s ready” George murmured, looking around.

Fred smirked “about time, now remember, Georgie -”

“Do not get caught and do not draw any attention, got it!”

Fred walked into the tight fitting broom closet and hid behind the door, waiting for his brother. 

Walking down the halls in your Ravenclaw house colour sleeveless and short dress, you noticed George looking quite flustered but with his ‘trick up his sleeve’ expression, you had missed him and you really wanted to catch up.

“Hey, George!” you yelled out, waving your hand and running over to him. 

George wanted to ignore you and turn away but he couldn’t, he couldn’t ever shun a friend, but he didn’t have time for chitchat. Fred could hear you talking to George through the door, your back turned against it, he opened the door slowly and silently, peeking out.

Fred had to bite his lip at the sight of you, your glowing shoulders, your stunning legs - his desire for you burning even more with each second that passed. 

“I’m really sorry Y/N but I’ve got to get going” George interrupted “I promise we’ll catch up later.”

Before you could protest, George grabbed his box and hurried away down the halls, you stayed still and sighed, watching him move further and further away. 

Fred opened the door wider and managed to get himself up, he grabbed you by the arm, hoping to have more of a conversation with you than his brother. Screaming for your life you were suddenly silenced by the hand that covered your mouth.

Fred pulled you back into the broom closet and slammed the door “Shhh” he whispered “quiet love, don’t want us to get caught, if George finds us he’ll kill me.” Fred stood behind you, pressed up against the wall. 

The grin on Fred’s lips spread out in seconds, your heart pounding inside your chest - not only for the sudden fright but for being in such a tight space with the hottest lad you had ever seen; you wanted to leave, make a fuss, but you didn’t want to get George in trouble.

“I’ll only stay quiet if you tell me what's going on”

As if on cue, a series of loud bangs trailed through the school, then loud crackles and whistling. 

“This” Fred replied, chuckling. 

You sighed, you could be out in the sun but you were stuck in some dingy broom closet which started to tick you off “can I leave now?” you huffed.

“patience, love - don’t want to ruin your perfect, stainless reputation, do you?”

Staying silent you shook your head, the tightness of the broom closet closing in on you, causing you to squeeze up against Fred - your behind pressing against his crotch, your back against his chest, your hair against his face - your scent driving him insane. Your feet began to hurt from standing up on the spot for so long, you moved from side to side, grinding against Fred’s upper thigh.

Fred groaned beneath his breath, unable to stop himself. 

“are you okay?” you asked innocently.

“I’m fine!” Fred growled “J-Just stop moving - turn around!”

You turned and tried to keep still but you couldn’t - the pain was unbearable and you could only gain comfort by having movement.

Fred grabbed your shoulders trying to hold you in place, the tension between the two of you brewing like a potion out of control. Unable to keep you still, Fred instantly grabbed your hips, his hot breath hitting you. 

“Please stop moving, I’m begging you, stop!”

“I’m sorry but I can’t!” you hissed “you dragged me in here, if I stop moving my feet will hurt!” you pushed against his grip, your hips accidently brushing against Fred’s cock - instantly starting to harden in his trousers. 

Fred released a pain growl, his hungry eyes burning into you, you felt your cheeks heat up, this had never happened to you before, you only read about this sort of interaction in your books. 

You smirked and turned back around, no longer facing Fred and began to grind your behind against him in circular motions - your curiosity getting the better of you. 

“You’re making it worse” Fred groaned against your shoulder, his soft lips grazing your skin. 

Getting the hang of what you were doing, Fred pushed his head back against the wall “Please don’t break the promise I made with George” he groaned “fuck, I’ve wanted this since I first saw you.”

“what promise?” you asked, feeling his large hard on poke into you. 

“I’m really into you Y/N, George knows it, he made me promise not to pursue you because... you’re a virgin, you can’t lose your virginity in a broom closet, it should be in a nice comfy bed - covered in rose petals and that lot to a long term boyfriend.”

Feeling yourself slightly annoyed from the ridiculous stereotype and for your ‘experience level’ to be broadcasted, you turned to face Fred and glared at him. 

“I think the topic of me being a virgin should be kept between me and myself, it’s no one else's business!” 

Smashing your lips against Fred’s, the two of you exchanged a beautiful, yet heated kiss - taking the more charismatic twin by surprise. Your hands landed on Fred’s belt, your fingers fiddling with the buckle, trying to undo it. 

Fred stopped you “wait, are you sure? we don’t have to-”

“Of course I’m sure, did I stutter?” 

Fred grinned and went back to kissing you, his belt falling to the floor, along with his trousers, now sitting around his ankles. Fred’s gentle hand trailed up your dress, his fingers grazing against your thigh before hooking the hem of your thong, he pulled it down and stuffed your thong into his robe pocket, he put on a condom on his large length and applied lube. 

“Jump” he ordered softly. 

Doing as you were told, Fred held you whilst your legs wrapped around his hips, he gave you one last look and he slowly pushed himself inside of you slowly, instantly moaning out at the feeling on your walls tightening around him. Biting your lip you whimpered, getting used to his size and the new feeling you were about to experience. 

Fred moved towards the door so you could rest against it rather than the cold stone wall, his forehead rested against yours after he peppered loving kisses against it, nuzzling his nose against yours lovingly. 

“You’re so bloody gorgeous” Fred smiled “you feel incredible.”

Fred continued to penetrate you and you slowly got used to this new feeling of pleasure surging inside of you. Looking up and making eye contact with Fred, you blushed and the two of you shared a giggle.

You remembered what the main character did in the book and so you began to do that to Fred, grinding against him, moving your hips in circular motions, his length burying deeper inside of you - Fred had never felt this before - and he thought he was pretty good when it came to sex. 

Just as Fred was about to continue, you could hear footsteps coming closer to the door and the voice of a Professor draw closer, before Fred could react fast enough, the door opened. Fred moved back, almost falling and you just about go to your feet - but it was too late - your position, Fred’s trousers around his ankles, and your underwear peeking out from his pocket said it all - hell, he was still inside of you. 

Professor McGonagall’s eyes widened at the sight of you - a perfect, Ravenclaw, straight A prefect doing such a thing but when she saw Fred, she swallowed hard, still glaring and now flustered, she turned back and closed the door.

Fred let out a nervous shaky breath and started to laugh, you tried not to but you started laughing with him, the two of you pink and slightly embarrassed from such an encounter, but you knew this wasn’t Fred’s first rodeo. 

Fred pulled his boxers and trousers up, you passed him his belt whilst you fixed your hair and got the creases out of your dress. Fred pulled your thong out of his pocket, trying to hand them back to you. 

“Oh, no thanks, keep them” you smiled.

Fred cocked a brow “why?” 

“Well, I need a good reason to meet up with you next week, you can give them back to me then.” 

Fred grinned and peppered kisses along your neck, the two of you chuckling and laughing like you had been on the worlds most amazing date. Leaving the broom closet, Fred walked by your side, the two of you chatting about his prank and where George went. 

“Hey, before you go, Y/N, I’ve got a question.”

“what is it Freddie?” 

“I know for a fact you were a virgin up until a few minutes ago” 

You nodded your head “uh yeah, that's right”

Fred grinned again “are you sure you’ve never done anything like that before?”

You laughed and looked into his gorgeous eyes, the two of you now outside in the sun. 

“Positive” you replied 

Fred looked defeated for a moment “So tell me, love, how did you know what to do and how to do it?” 

You scoffed and rolled your eyes “Freddie my dear, it’s called Erotic Literature, open a book and read for a change.”

Tags: @reeophidian @inglourious-imagines @alwaysnforeverfangirl @amourtentiaa @lucymfer

[isolemnlyswear]

Hi! I have a James Potter request where the reader and James are partners in potions class and they’re brewing amortentia and they smell each other, but the reader doesn’t do well with feelings, so she kind of ignores him the next day and idk what happens after that but I’d like a fluffy ending please 😗💕

never felt like this before

young!James Potter x fem!reader

a/n : well. this fic was a trip. it deleted twice, after i’d written almost all of it, and it took me long enough to write already. so, i present to you, my stress-bringer. please don’t let this flop i sound so pitiful but seriously-

taglist : @oldschoolkiddo @amourtentiaa @anchoeritic @faeinorbit @tomriddleswifey @inks-and-jinx @blacksbooksx @punkrific @truly-insatiable @cedricsbrowncurls @orifortheweeknd @fallin-4-ya

---

"Hope we do something interesting today, m’bored," James huffs, arm around your shoulder, and at first, you pay no mind to the gesture. You'd always been affectionate with him, as he’s one of your closest friends, but lately, there’s this burning in the pit of your stomach - this aching, both when you are with and without him, like your soul was screaming for more. More of what, you don’t know; rather, you don’t want to admit to yourself.

And then, suddenly, something snaps. You’re now acutely aware of the way his hands - God, those hands - are draped so delicately around you, and you want so desperately to... No, you told yourself. You can't possibly want more, you have a wonderful best friend who doesn't want anything more from you, so why should you?

“You in there, Y/N?” he teases, arm dropping to poke your side lightly, effectively breaking you from your trance.

“Hmm? Oh! Sorry, what did y’say?” you say with a shake of your head, receiving a chuckle from the brunette.

“You're in another world today, huh?” he says, tilting his head, and a blush spreads across the apples of your cheeks. He sighs contentedly, expression indicating a change in subject. “Said that I wanted something interesting to happen today, s’boring.”

“Well, maybe Slughorn will have some excitement in store for us today,” you reply with a cheeky smile, one that James returns, the glint in his cerulean irises shining with the warm light emitting from the corridor torches. 

“If not, you might just have to entertain me,” the brunette replies with a grin, and although the connotation of the comment was not an inherently flirty one - you assume - your cheeks are rouging at the remark, requiring you to clear your throat - and mind - as you step over the threshold and into the classroom, inhaling sharply. 

But when the oxygen fills your lungs, there’s a heavy aroma along with it; your eyes are narrowing at how familiar it is, and you turn to James. 

“What’s that smell?” you inquire, and he shrugs in response, taking in a thick breath of his own, sighing contentedly once the air hits his lungs. 

“It smells... good,” he remarks, and you nod in affirmation, parting your lips to ask exactly what the boy smells, but you’re interrupted by Slughorn. 

“Students, students! Settle down, would you? Alright, today is a rather... fun one, I think.” he says, wiping his forehead. 

“What will we be brewing, sir?” a curious Hufflepuff asks, and he laughs. 

“You won’t technically be brewing anything,” he starts, and miscellaneous sighs - some of relief, some of discontent - air from your classmates. You simply look to James, who raises a brow. “Can anyone tell me what this is?” No response. “Alright then. Does amortentia ring a bell? Anyone do their reading?”

“It’s-” you start, for you know the answer, but your lips clamp shut when you realize the significance of what you’re about to say. 

“Its scent mirrors what you most desire, sir.” You sigh in relief at the Ravenclaw who answers instead of you, and Slughorn nods in confirmation.

“Ah, yes. Now, come on now, take a whiff, and you’ll write down your specific smell. No wrong answers, here.” 

The rest of your peers scramble to smell the bubbling potion, but you’re frozen in place, heart beating erratically and breathing ragged until James taps you lightly on the shoulder. 

“You alright?” he asks, and you nod firmly in response, shaking your head before stepping up to the cauldron. 

You hover over it for but a moment, and then you breathe. Your lungs swell with the eupnea that bleeds into you, and layers of the aroma unfold the more you inhale, for you’ve found that the scent is intoxicating, and you can’t bring yourself to stop. You breathe until you can pinpoint the exact scent, and- 

A spice-filled shampoo, warm with cinnamon and musk. Broom polish, and something metallic - like the scent of something gold, something shiny. And licorice, a bit of pastry. The aroma overwhelms you, and you stumble back, running into the desk behind you. 

“Whoa there, watch it,” James says, laughing slightly as his hand presses against the nape of your back to keep you from falling any more, and you recoil from his touch, shaking your head. 

“I-I have to go,” you say, stepping over to Slughorn. “I, um-” your mind scrambles as you think of an excuse, “-I feel kind of unwell, mind if I-I go see Madam Pomfrey?” you lie - well, technically, you do feel unwell, but the cause of it isn’t something the hospital wing could fix - and Slughorn sighs, but nods, and you stumble out of the classroom and out to the bathroom, taking in gulps of non-amortentia related air; you can no longer smell the potion, but it lingers in your nose, and you want nothing more than to smell no more of the delightful scent.

Because that’s the problem - it’s utterly divine, and you know just why. 

Because you’re in love with James Potter. 

And the feeling that was burning in your gut before, it’s roaring like a fire now, and you crumple over as tears fall from your eyes. 

You’ve never felt like this before, and it’s just too much. You don’t want to depend on someone that probably doesn’t want you back. Merlin, James was so calm in that classroom that he probably just smelled a broomstick, or something harmless enough. Not his best friend. 

That’s just what he was. Your best friend. Not someone you could pine after, no, because it would ruin everything.

So you made the executive decision to avoid the brunette for as long as possible. 

Which wasn’t long - twenty-six hours later, when you were tucked in the corner of the library, and hadn’t spoken to James for a whole day, James suddenly stood over you, eyebrows knit in what seemed like confusion. 

“Where the fuck have you been? I’ve been looking for you everywhere, I-” he starts, and you feel tears welling in your e/c eyes. 

“Stop.” you cut him off with one word, lip trembling. And Merlin, you thought you’d be able to put up a front, but it’s impossible with how much you’ve missed him in a mere day. 

“What- oh, Y/N, what’s wrong?” The irritation that was there before is gone, and it’s replaced with pure affection as he sits down next to you, arm tracing delicate circles into your shoulder. And you try to pull away, but it’s not his arm that’s anchoring you to his body - you just can’t bring yourself to stop as you let your head fall weakly into his chest, inhaling his scent.

The exact scent you’d smelled a few days prior. You’re flooded with emotions, and you can’t help the sobs that escape from your lips. 

“J-james, can I just-” you say through strained breaths “-ask you something.”

“F’course, anything,” he replies, and you smile a watery smile. 

“What did you smell in-in the amortentia?” 

And it’s his turn to blush, while his free hand adjusts his glasses.

“Well, it’s - it’s why I wanted to find you so bad. I smelled you, and-” he’s cut off as you hug him almost bone-crushingly, arms tight around his ribs now. 

“I smelled you, James. And I don’t know- I don’t know how to deal with it, the way I feel for you is- it’s-” you try to find the right words, and James beats you to it.

“All-consuming. If it’s the same as what I feel, I hope.” You nod in response, and a moment passes before you speak. 

“What does that mean for us, then?” 

“It means that I love you. And if it’s, well, returned, then... I’d ask you to be my girlfriend, if you’ll have me.” he says, brushing a strand of hair from your face, and you smile, nodding eagerly.

“It’s returned tenfold, James.” 

“Well, that’s just impossible, my love.” 

“It’s very possible. I love you a lot, James Potter.” 

“I love you more, my sweet girl.”

[foilfreak]

Beauty and Her Beast: Chapter 3

Warning: This fic is rated NSFW and contains graphic depictions of things some people may find disturbing or alarming, including, but not limited to: violence, gore, unhealthy family relationships, Oedipus complexes, gratuitous amount of pornographic literature, ableist language, physical, mental, and emotional abuse, etc. If you are someone who does not enjoy fiction with these elements in them, then I suggest you refrain from reading this, because this fic will have all that, and probably a lot more. So, this is your first and final warning to turn around and go somewhere else if stuff like this just isn't your vibe, because from this point forward, your emotional wellbeing is in your own hands, and I will not be accepting blame if you disregarded my warnings and ended up reading something you didn't like. Idk why I feel compelled to write one of these despite this being Resident Evil fanfic, but I figured I'd cover my ass just in case.

(Link to ao3 version in comments below)

“Going off the information I have listed here, it appears as though you’ll be receiving subject N-45, today. She’s a healthy 22 year old female. Her short, but muscular body weighs 95lbs with a childish height of 4’10” tall. She possesses primarily Romanian and Filipino ancestry, with some Dutch or Finnish or... whatever, thrown in there as well. And according to the various items we found on her person when she was first brought in, she’s apparently a graduate student at the University of Bucharest, or, at least she was, before she drove her car into a tree while driving up the mountain and was recovered by Heisenberg” Miranda explains robotically, reading aloud from a piece of paper held inside a thick manila envelope. “Of the 4 remaining test subjects, N-45 is easily the most violent and difficult one to work with, having to be either anesthetized or restrained every time I wanted to so much as take her vitals or stabilize her condition. When given smaller doses of sedatives she-”

For the first time in his entire life, Salvatore completely ignores whatever unimportant nonsense Mother Miranda is going on about, continuing to take in and analyze the strikingly unique appearance of the young woman before him.

Upon first inspection, N-45 appeared to resemble that of a normal woman in just about every way possible. Her hair was scruffy and very short, barely long enough to reach her eyes, and a deep black color that looked so soft and luxurious that Salvatore ached to run his fingers through it. Her face was slightly round, giving the young woman a very youthful appearance, with her sharp jawline and prominent cheekbones being some of the only things keeping Salvatore from mistaking her for a child. And lastly, her... figure, if Salvatore had to put such an embarrassing idea into words, was similar to that of Mother Miranda, only shorter, more compact even. It reminded the hooded man of those small packets of candy Duke occasionally gifted him that said “fun sized” on the label, in reference to them being much smaller than the standard sized candy bars and yet somehow being… better, despite technically giving you less candy.

She was already perfect as she was, but it was not just N-45’s beautiful human features that pulled Salvatore in and refused to let him escape the stupefaction he’d been placed under, but also her mutations.

A soft royal blue coated her from head to toe, giving way only to a large patch of solid white located on her chest and stomach. Her skin catches the light in a way that reveals areas of tiny overlapping scales, glimmering like stars in the midnight sky, or freshly polished armor, perhaps, along the bony ridges and tender curves of her figure.

Small white dots distributed like paint splatters across the colored sections of her flesh give a similar visual effect as freckles, starting from her hairline and extending all the way down to the very tips of her toes. These galaxies of white were invisible only on the white patch along the front of her torso, as well as on the lighter blue hue taken on by both the palms and webbings of her hands and feet.

Long Fin-like extensions grew along both her forearms and lower back. The former extended outward and inward like a windshield wiper, likely used to decrease water resistance. The latter, however, perhaps used to increase fine motor maneuverability while swimming at greater speeds or in tighter spaces, grew straight downwards from her lower back in an overlapping fan configuration that marginally covered her rear end, though not by very much. The fins looked like a soft, delicate material that was probably very flexible but very durable, if Salvatore had to guess just from looking.

And to top everything off, N-45 even appeared to even have gills, 2 different sets by the looks of it. The first set of 3 breathing slits was located horizontally along both sides of her neck, while the second set could be found on both sides of her torso, following the downward angle of her ribs but stopping just underneath her soft, plump-looking breasts.

Salvatore feels a sudden wave of heat cascade over his body and he turns his face away in shameful embarrassment as he suddenly realizes that N-45, much like every test subject undergoing cadou treatment, was still very, very nude at the present moment.

“I can’t make any promises regarding her disposition, but physically speaking, she’s ready to be released to you whenever you’d like. I’ll have some of the villagers transport and release her into the reservoir later this week” Mother Miranda says, pressing a button to close the pod now that Salvatore was no longer staring at her.

“W-wait just a m-moment” Salvatore calls out, prompting Mother Miranda to halt the closing of the pod.

“Yes? What is it?” The woman asks curtly, clearly not wanting to stand here and watch Salvatore any longer than she has to.

Wringing his hands together nervously, Salvatore meekly asks, “C-could… could y-you wake h-her up… s-so that I can s-speak with her… j-just for a m-moment?”

Mother Miranda remains silent for a moment, blank face staring directly at Salvatore as she contemplates what to do.

“No, Moreau,” she says finally. “I’ve had a very busy day today and I'm quite tired. N-45 is a menace that I struggle to deal with even on my best days. The last thing I need is something going wrong and her getting out and causing all sorts of chaos.”

Salvatore’s shoulders slump in disappointment, but he makes no further attempts to argue.

Mother Miranda rolls her eyes at the incredibly childish display, walking over to place a gentle hand on Salvatore’s head. “Would it make you feel better if I agreed to have N-45 be the first of the subjects to be dropped off? It’ll be more difficult than my original plan, but I suppose it was a bit unfair that you were the only one who didn’t get to “pick” their gift.”

“Yes, M-Mother Miranda… I-I’d like th-that very… very m-much” Salvatore says, leaning into the touch as Mother Miranda begins guiding him back toward the hallway leading to the exit door.

It wasn’t until after Miranda had exited the lab and begun walking down the long hallway toward the exit that Salvatore dared cast another glance back at the pod that contained N-45, wistfully thinking of how amazing her hand had felt in his, and how much he wanted to speak to her.

Just as the disfigured man was about to turn back and follow Miranda out of the laboratory, a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention, prompting Salvatore to tense and snap toward the 4 pods, frantically trying to figure out what it was he saw. A few seconds of stillness pass before Salvatore sees movement again, not freely moving about the room like he originally expected, but from within one of the 4 pods, his pod to be exact.

His curiosity momentarily outweighing his nerves, Salvatore slowly approaches the metal capsule, trying to get a look through the small pane of glass that allows visual access into the holding pod.

Another flash of movement has Salvatore flinching, jumping back as though he’d been advanced upon. After several seconds of stillness, however, the hooded man regains his confidence and once again inches his way toward the capsule, moving his head up and down to try and get one more glimpse at N-45 before he has to leave. One last look before she lays eyes upon his vile and disgusting body for the first time, screaming and calling him a monster as she runs away, leaving him alone and without anyone to call his own. Just like always.

“ Hello ?”

Salvatore froze dead in his tracks, his heart pounding and his lungs refusing to take in air, as a soft, muffled, questioning voice reaches the deformed man’s ears, followed by two golden orbs with narrow black slits running vertically through the center, that slowly peek into view from the bottom of the glass window. Salvatore’s eyes widen in shock as he quickly realizes that the orbs of gold are not, in fact, just spheres of color, but rather a pair of eyes, staring intently at him from inside the pod.

“Uuuuuh… u-u-uuum… I-i… I w-was just…” the disfigured man stuttered as he struggled to move his body, seemingly paralyzed by the bewitching gaze currently locked onto him, looking at him with an intensity that makes Salvatore wonder if this is what it feels like to be a cell put under a microscope.

It isn’t until Salvatore notices the golden orbs moving and shifting from one corner of the window pane to the other that the hooded man realizes, to his immediate horror, that he might not be the only one trying to get a better look at the figure located on the other side of the pod door. Panic and fear immediately fill Salvatore from deep within, growing strong enough to allow him to finally overcome his temporary paralysis and skitter away from view. Pulling his hood even further over his petrifyingly grotesque face in shame of himself, Salvatore flees the laboratory as quickly as his hobbled limp would allow.

His heart pounds to the beat of the soft, but desperate pleas of protest coming from N-45’s pod in response to Salvatore’s rapidly retreating form, yet the hooded man cannot bring himself to believe what he hears as true. Perhaps believing that the siren-like voice he hears echoing off the metal laboratory walls to be nothing more than a trick of his sick and lonely mind, Salvatore does not stop, nor does he turn back around until he’s met up with Mother Miranda at the exit to the surface, lungs burning and legs aching from running for so far and long.

“Oh, there you are, Moreau,” Mother Miranda says suddenly, stopping just before they are about to exit the laboratory. “I’m glad you chose this time to finally catch up, because I just realized a second ago that I’d forgotten to give you N-45’s previous name. You can name her something else if you’d prefer, of course, but I offered the information to your siblings so I suppose I should offer it to you as well. Would you still like to know N-45’s name, or would you rather abandon her given name for one of your own choosing?”

After a few seconds of silent contemplation, Salvatore lifts his head, “I… I-i would like to k-know… her n-name… please...” the mutant man says softly.

Mother Miranda briefly raises a questioning eyebrow at Salvatore’s nervous body language, but ultimately rolls her eyes and shrugs her shoulders, all but tossing the Manila envelope containing N-45’s information at the hooded man before disappearing out the large metal door.

“If you’re going to read that now, feel free, but return to the meeting room once you're done. And be sure to lock the door to my laboratory behind you” Miranda commands, her voice having grown echoey due to how far away she now was.

“Yes, M-Mother” Salvatore calls after her as he scrambles to catch the thrown file and prevent any loose papers from falling out. Once he’s got a solid handle on the thick envelope, he opens it, casting a quick glance back in the direction of the pod room, where Nadine and the other 3 gifts were being held for the time being.

Returning to the file, Salvatore frantically flips through every page, trying to find the one that held N-45’s personal background information.

After several minutes of desperate flipping back and forth, Salvatore finally focuses on one particular piece of paper that looked to have been in the file for the longest. Pulling out the particular page he’d found, the disfigured man drops the rest of the folder onto the ground and begins rapidly skimming through the information printed on the page, his hungry eyes refusing to stop until they finally zeroed in on the information he’d been looking for.

Project: E.V.A. Resurrection

Subject: N-45

Parasite Administered: Cadou (Series- N; Strain- 45)

Family Name: Bogdan

Given Name: Nadine

“N… Nadine” Salvatore said slowly, feeling slightly lightheaded and out of breath as each individual letter of the young woman’s name rolled off his tongue like Camembert cheese; smooth, creamy, decedent, and likely to keep him up all night with an upset stomach and a racing heartbeat.

Nadine. Nadine. Nadine. Nadine. Nadine. Nadine. Nadine. Nadine. Nadine. Nadine. Nadine.

The name quickly became a broken loop played over and over and over again inside Salvatore’s head, his mind unable, or rather unwilling, to think of anything else as he read, reread, and then re-reread Nadine’s name at least 100 times, before finally setting the piece of paper down.

“Nadine...” Salvatore breathes the name once again, his voice carrying a wistful tone. “E-even your n-name is wonderful...”

An already beautiful woman, made even more perfect through the power of science and Mother Miranda’s grace, only for all that potential to end up wasted in the hands of a desperately lonely and horrifically mangled fish mutant, who was more likely to accidentally dissolve her in stomach acid than woo her like some kind of aquatic Prince Charming.

“Y-ya right... e-e-even with a-another mutant… I’m s-still so disgusting a-an… and horrifying in comparison… n-not even my o-own kind can b-bring thems-themselves to love me f-for who I a-am… not th-that there’s much of m-me that’s worth l-loving to begin w-with” Moreau laments to himself, wondering if it was even worth holding out hope that things with Nadine could go his way. As if one look at his monstrous form wouldn’t be enough to ruin everything Salvatore already has an agonizingly low chance of ever having with that magnificent specimen of a woman.

Even with Nadine’s own external mutations making it clear that she was no longer fully human, her form had still retained such a beautifully strong, yet womanly shape to it, and her face still looked so young and innocent despite everything that she’s been through. Someone as beautiful as her was far too good and pure to be tainted by his filthy hands.

‘Maybe I should just kill her when the villagers arrive with her at the gate? At least then... I could say I put her out of her misery before she had to experience it for herself…’ Salvatore sulks mentally.

However, despite the self degrading thoughts running through his mind, the memory of the curious look Nadine’s shockingly bright and mesmerizing golden eyes held when trying to look at Salvatore through the pod window made the hooded man shiver, having never been looked upon in such an innocently curious manner before. Most people who got that close to Salvatore didn’t even need to see his face in order to start screaming and running away in terror. However, if the deformed man allowed himself a brief moment to believe that it was indeed her who’d been calling him to come back and show himself, then from the tone and rushed quality of her voice, it would seem as though Nadine was unsatisfied with the fact that she hadn’t seen all of Salvatore’s face and body, not terrified.

How strange...

How very strange indeed…

[illeee-girl]

You Infire Me Chapter Twenty-Four: The Boys Come to Visit

yoongi x reader genre: fluff warnings: mc with mental health issues word count: 2k

Read on Wattpad

Read on Ao3

“The key to companionship is trust. We wouldn’t have come this far if we didn’t trust each other.” — J-Hope

To say that you’re anxious to meet Yoongi’s six hyungs would be a gross understatement. Part of you is thrilled, and the other, much larger part is terrified. And now, you won’t be meeting them as his girlfriend.

You’ll be meeting them as his fiancée.

You didn’t sleep well for a week. (And no, not for those kinds of reasons. Get your mind out of the gutter.) You didn’t sleep well because you couldn’t believe it. You spent all of your nights thrashing about, your mind active and relentless, trying to convince yourself that he’d proposed. So unexpectedly, so out of the blue. The ring I wear around my neck is Yoongi’s. Yoongi’s! I’m engaged to Min Yoongi! I am going to marry Min Yoongi!

Nope. It never worked. You woke up every morning in a quandary. Baffled, discomposed. Then perplexed, flustered. Then giddy, gasping, giggling. And, finally, grateful. Grateful to be Min Yoongi’s future wife.

It’s a rollercoaster of emotions, a cycle of thoughts and feelings. You run through it again, in all its whiplashing glory, as you sweep Yoongi’s apartment on a Saturday morning.

“Hey, Y/N-ah, you know what I just realized?” You hear your now-fiancée’s voice from the other room. “It’s our one-week anniversary of being engaged! Whoa, wait,” you hear his footfalls stop, and turn to see him behind you. “What are you doing?”

“Your hyungs are coming tomorrow,” you explain, “so I’m cleaning up.”

“You don’t have to do that,” he crosses the room and wraps his arms around you from behind, settling his hands on your hips. “I’m a very clean person. It looks fine in here.”

“I know it does,” you giggle a bit, “but I want to impress them.”

“With your cleaning skills?”

You nod. “I am your future wife, after all.”

“Yes you are,” he agrees. “But this is not the 1950s. I’m not marrying you so that you’ll be here to clean up after me and cook my meals. I’m marrying you so that I can spend forever with the world’s smartest, sweetest, prettiest girl.”

You hold back a sigh of contentment, but the feeling probably shows on your face. “Say that again.”

“The world’s smartest–”

“No, before that.”

“Spend forever–”

“Before that too.”

“I’m marrying you? Is that the one?”

“Mm-hmm,” you nod, settling into his embrace a little more, enjoying the feeling of his strong arms guarding you from the world. “Say it over and over again.”

“I’m marrying you. I’m marrying you. I’m marrying you. I’m marrying you.”

You laugh. “Nice use of marked emphasis to alter semantic meaning, Yoongs.”

“You taught me well.”

You turn to face him, to place a kiss on his lips, and you get close . . .

But then, someone knocks at the door.

Yoongi groans, tears himself from your side, and runs to open it. From where you’re standing, you can’t see who lies behind it, but you formulate a pretty good guess at Yoongi’s pleasantly surprised expression and the voice that shouts:

“SUGA-SSHI! We’re here!”

Six extremely polished Korean men pour into Yoongi’s small living space. You stand there in the background, still holding the broom in your hands, simply observing. You feel very much like you’re taking part in a k-drama, and utter a silent plea that this will be the pinnacle of awkwardness.

“You’re early!” Yoongi shouts back at them. They’re loud; he has to.

“No we’re not,” one defends. He’s tall, with plump lips and picture-perfect proportions. From your training with Yoongi, you identify him quickly. Jin. Otherwise known as WWH, Worldwide Handsome. “We told you we’d get here today,” Jin explains.

“You said the twenty-seventh.”

“That’s today,” another says through a giggle. He’s extra skinny, extremely fashionable, and seems to exude enough light to put the sun to shame. J-Hope, or Hoseok, or Hobi, you think.

“Our forgetful grandpa Suga hyung,” coos the shortest—but you know not to let that fool you. He may be small, but he’s gorgeous, with blonde hair and a thousand rings on his fingers. Jimin. He wraps your demonstrably apprehensive (but conceding) fiancée into a tight hug.

Two of the others follow suit, pushing their bodies into the circle and wrapping their arms around Yoongi to form a group hug. One has a sleeve of tattoos, rows of piercings, and the kindest eyes—Jungkook. The other has wavy hair, loose clothing, and a deep voice. Taehyung.

That leaves Namjoon, the brilliant and buff leader of BTS. He’s the first to notice you standing there.

“Suga hyung,” he says, “you didn’t tell us that Y/N would be here!”

This catches the attention of the mob, and they all turn their heads excitedly towards you. Namjoon steps towards you, and the others follow suit, as if they were a hoard of fluffy penguins following their leader.

“It’s nice to meet you, Y/N!” Hoseok is the first one to speak. “Yoongi-ah’s told us so much about you.”

“Only good things—don’t worry,” adds Jungkook.

“And he wasn’t wrong. You are really pretty,” Jimin flirts, winking.

“Oh, don’t be stupid. She’s gorgeous.” Taehyung chimes in. “You sure you’re content with Suga here?”

This is more than enough to encourage Yoongi to intervene. “Okay, okay, back away from her,” he pleads, stepping to your side. “She’s mine.”

“Boys, no more flirting with Yoongi’s girl,” Namjoon commands. “Don’t worry, Suga hyung. Jimin and Tae will be disciplined for this unbecoming behavior.”

“NOT ANOTHER LECTURE, please!” Jimin pleads.

“Spare them your doctoral dissertation on respect,” Yoongi says through a laugh. “I’m sure they’ve heard it recently enough.”

“Fine. Then let us introduce ourselves properly,” Namjoon says, bowing, then reaching to shake your hand. A Korean-American fusion of greetings. “I’m Kim Namjoon, rapper and leader of BTS. And Suga’s best friend.”

“Ouch,” Hoseok holds a hand over his heart. “I thought that I, Jung Hoseok, was Suga’s best friend.”

“Um, correction,” Jungkook folds his beefy arms. “That’s me, Jeon Jungkook.”

“Boys, boys, you’re all pretty,” Yoongi interrupts their dispute. “And you’re all my best friends.” He looks out over the lot of them and smiles. It’s one of your all-time favorite Yoongi smiles: warm and so genuine it seems like a reflex. “I’m really glad you’re here. But . . . could you give us some time to get ourselves ready for the day? You all want to go out to eat, I presume.”

“Yes, we’re starving,” Jin says. “Do they have gimbap here?”

Yoongi chuckles. “You’re in for quite the culture shock, my friend. Hunsaker’s got about three restaurants, and none of them are Korean. Or even remotely Asian.”

“Why do you live here again?” Tae asks.

“Well . . .” Yoongi’s voice trails off. “It’s where the love of my life lives.”

________________________

A couple of hours later, you’re showered, dressed (still not quite worthy to be seen next to BTS, but nothing in your closet ever could amount to that), and ready to go. Yoongi waits on your apartment’s couch while you get ready, a patient, dutiful fiancée.

“Where do we take them?” You half-ask, half-laugh as you walk into the living room.

“I don’t know,” he groans, dropping his head into his hands. “Pizza is more what they’re used to, but the pizza at Nicky’s is pretty terrible. We’re more used to it by now than we realize. So barbecue is . . . probably safer?” He says it like a question.

“Let’s do it,” you grab his hands and lift him up off the couch. “It’ll be an adventure.”

He hums. “I’m looking forward to all kinds of adventures with you.”

________________________

You pass around the plastic-coated menus dotted with barbecue sauce stains. It’s you and the seven members of the world’s most famous boyband sitting at an old table covered in a checkered table cloth; it’s a sight no one would ever have expected to see. A mob of students and onlookers gathers outside the barbecue joint’s Main Street entrance, peering in to see how Kim Taehyung and Jeon Jungkook will react to their first taste of Sweet Baby Ray’s. Others are probably interested in how fiercely Kim Seokjin and Park Jimin will judge the brisket, or how fast Jung Hoseok and Kim Namjoon will chug their first taste of sweet lemonade.

You just hope that none of them are there to observe how you’ll hold up under the pressure. You take deep breaths to avoid an unwelcome appearance of panicked, anxious Y/N. You fidget with your fingers until Yoongi grabs one of your hands to hold under the table, giving it a squeeze of reassurance. His presence is soothing. It forces you to remember that you’re not alone in this. And one day—soon, now—you’ll never have to be alone in anything ever again.

And BTS's security detail gets the crowd to disperse, which eases the knot in your stomach.

“Y/N, we really like you,” Hoseok assures, ever the bright ray of sunshine. “I hope you know that.”

“Yeah,” Jin agrees. “You’re funny, and witty, and we can tell that you really love our Suga.”

“Don’t be worried to just . . . be yourself around us,” sweet Jungkook adds. “We don’t bite.”

“Unless you want us to,” Jimin winks. Namjoon promptly sends him a glare that could pierce a thousand souls. Jimin holds up his hands. “Sorry, sorry. I saw the opportunity and I had to go for it.”

“I like you guys, too,” you tell them, and you mean it. They’ve been great company. And they even ended up liking—or at least pretending to like—the subpar barbecue. You’re certain it’s nothing like what they’re used to: five-star restaurants around the world. But, after spending an hour with them, you’re certain that they’re the most down-to-earth celebrities in existence.

“Guys,” Yoongi pipes up, expertly commanding the attention of his bandmates. He gives your hand another little squeeze under the table. “We have some news to share with you.”

You raise your eyebrows. Here? Now?

His gaze seems to communicate back: Yes. Is that okay?

I mean, I guess so, you shrug. Yeah. Go for it. You begin to pull at the chain around your neck . . .

“Y/N and I . . . are engaged!”

You brandish the square-cut diamond ring.

“WOOOOOOAH!” They all cheer in unison.

“CONGRATULATIONS!” Namjoon grins from ear to ear.

Yoongi slips the ring off of its chain and glides it gently onto your finger. You stare at him, and his eyes say: It's okay. Just this once, I want to show you off as my fiancée. Just this once.

“Our first Bangtan wedding!” Taehyung’s mouth drops open. “Because . . . of . . . our first Bangtan baby, perhaps?” Yoongi glowers at him. “No? Ok, sorry, sorry!”

“I’m going to help plan your wedding. I hope you know that,” Jin nods.

“I, too, will be intimately involved in the details,” Jimin adds.

“I offer my services as choreographer of your first dance,” Hoseok smiles.

They share more congratulations as the minutes pass, and you accept them. You munch on more mac-n-cheese, sip your sweet tea, and hold the hand of your first and last true sweetheart. You feel accepted, and loved, both as a member of a found family and one that will soon be established.

You’re so overjoyed, in fact, that you don’t notice that someone from the crowd outside the restaurant had lingered. Not until you stand up to refill your sauce. A young college-age girl lingers in the corner of the Main Street window, with her phone camera set squarely on you. And there, on your left hand that’s holding an empty, plastic sauce cup is your engagement ring: dangerously and clearly visible. The girl lowers her phone and smiles menacingly.

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