#did i or did i not spend today writing almost 2000 words of this au unplanned

[etapereine]

.

[lilbabycee]

bunny // steve rogers (part one) 🐰

READ PART TWO

↳ summary: the reader finds herself in a little bit of trouble... financially. enter steve rogers. 

↳ relationship: soft dark!steve rogers x brat!reader

↳ word count: 5.6k

↳ warnings: sugar baby au, eventual dark steve, daddy kink, eventual smut, mentions of substance abuse, unhealthy coping mechanisms + relationships, the reader is rich and a little bit of a bitch

↳ author’s note: i started writing this series ages ago but i’m thinking that maybe posting it on here will give me the inspiration to continue! please enjoy! ❤️

chapter one: you expensive you know that?

—

" you expensive, you know that?

i'm high-maintenance a little but not in a, not in a negative way

i just like extremely expensive things"

- faithful, drake

—

“But Daddy-!”

“No, absolutely not,” your father shuts you down without hesitation which immediately makes your eyes water.

“Please, I promise I won’t do it again-”

“That’s what you said the last time,” he reminds you nonchalantly and you can hear the rapid clicking of a keyboard in the background of the call. He’s not even paying full attention to you, likely still working on whatever the CEO of a multi- billion dollar corporation needs to work on.

“But I’m serious this time!” you insist, cocking a hip and tapping your acrylics loudly on the top of your marble kitchen counter. “You know what I’m like - I swear I’ll do better this time-”

“Nope,” his hard tone cuts you off as you hear his office phone ring. He sighs loudly over the receiver which makes your heart fall. “Look, honey-”

You know what’s coming and you can’t even try to stop it.

“-I’ve got another call coming in. I’m not sending you another dime until you can prove to me that you have the ability to be financially independent. I didn’t pay for all of those expensive private schools so that you could sit on your ass all day and blow my money like it’s in endless supply. You have all the necessary credentials to go and get a well-paying job, so go get one, goddammit. And please call your mother - she’s been trying to call you all day. Neither of us have any time left to entertain your little addictions nor your blatant disregard for the hard work that we’ve put in to get you where you are today.

“You’ve proven to me before that you are grossly incapable of doing even the simplest of tasks, so don’t let me down with this one,” he sighs loudly. “Sometimes, I wish you were more like my colleagues’ kids - they’re doctors and lawyers but all you are is ungrateful. I’ve really gotta take this call,” he says your name sternly which makes you tap your nails even faster. “Do as you’re told for once in your damn life.”

“Daddy-!” you borderline shriek once more before the phone clicks and he’s off attending to more important business.

You don’t even realize that you’re pouting until your lips start to tremble, nor do you realize how much his words have gotten to you until you touch your cheek gently with your fingertips and they come back wet and glistening like gold in the warm light of day.

Maybe he’s right. You’ve been living in this penthouse for the past year without having to worry about anything. You loved it when you attended the first viewing, mainly because of the huge windows, three bedrooms and bathrooms (that you definitely don’t need because you live alone), the open plan, spacious kitchen and living areas, and the fact that all of your neighbors are either famous or excessively wealthy like you. You saw the acquirement of this apartment as a prime opportunity to further climb the social ladder, not that it’s really all that hard for you considering the fact that your father is one of the richest people in not only New York but the entire country. But you’d lived in Italy for a year prior to moving back to New York and upon your return to the USA, you decided that you really wanted to re-establish a name for yourself here, of course with the help of your father. He bought the penthouse almost the moment that you said you had your eye on it, and he just kind of…left you here. He’s only come to visit a handful of times since you bought it two years ago, though your mother has been over far more frequently to your utter dismay.

You inhale deeply through your nose, your eyelash extensions fluttering dramatically against your cheekbones. Grabbing your phone - the newest iPhone that you bought after you broke your other one at your friend Peter’s party - you sulk over to one of your ridiculously overpriced couches and fall dramatically - but not dramatically enough to crease the material of your latest drunk purchase, a white Gucci jumpsuit - on top of all your throw pillows, the picture of a damsel in distress. Your freshly manicured toes - painted white yesterday - curl into the softness of it as you huff, dabbing delicately at your face again to rid yourself of any traces of sadness before thinking about what the hell you’re going to do next.

Yes, you have a savings account that is far more than enough for you and your grandchildren’s grandchildren to live lavish lives and while that’s all well and good, even you know that you probably shouldn’t spend that... but it’d have to do until you found another way to get your money. With that, you shrug noncommittally and your face ID unlocks your phone so that you can start your newest endeavor - buying one of everything off of Alexander Wang.

Sure, you should be proactive and take initiative to finally take the steps to distance yourself from your parents, but you’ve only just had your twentieth birthday. After graduating from high school at fifteen - yes, fifteen: your parents really pushed you, to say the least, and it helped that you were naturally intelligent beyond the capabilities of even the nation’s best high school teachers -  you started your undergraduate at Harvard in the fall and finished at eighteen. You took what you dubbed an ‘extended summer vacation’ - hence Italy - and now you’re at an impasse.

Okay, admittedly your various interests - you refuse to call them addictions because they’re really not that serious - that may or may not include a wide array of party drugs and alcohol probably don’t make you the most trustworthy person in the eyes of your parents. But you’ve done everything that they’ve told you to do for the past twenty years of your life - can they blame a girl for wanting to have a little fun? A smile spreads across your face as, while scrolling, you spy the blue dad jeans that were completely out of stock just last week and quickly add them to your cart with a sense of self-satisfaction before continuing to add almost everything else to your bag. It’s not like you’re heavily dependent on anything - substance abuse is not a good look for you: it was definitely more early 2000s than now - and you only do them recreationally in social situations, so your parents really have nothing to worry about. They’re overly paranoid about you somehow tarnishing their image when in reality, your work in and outside of an academic setting has really bolstered their reputation more than they could have ever hoped for - not to toot your own metaphorical horn, but your endless philanthropic work coupled with your eagerness to “make a change” and your work in fashion has put you on the Forbes 30 Under 30 every year since you were fifteen.

You press the checkout button and your Apple Pay seamlessly completes the purchase for you: $29,000. Shrugging noncommittally, you lock your phone and stare pensively at the picturesque view of New York City outside of your window; that is until Alexa alerts you that Natasha is calling you.

Perfect timing.

Natasha’s voice echoes over the loudspeakers in the ceiling. “Hey, bunny,” she greets you and you groan loudly at the nickname, restlessly hopping up to grab a glass of water from your kitchen.

“Hey Nat,” you reply, more of a whine than anything else, and she laughs loudly at your tone.

“What happened to you? “

“Daddy cut me off,” you huff, walking to the couches in front of the TV and settling down with your glass of water. With a press of a few buttons on the universal remote, you FaceTime your best friend instead - a flash of red hair and then a blindingly white smile. She assesses you on your couch and laughs again, a full-bodied cackle that only intensifies your pout.

“It’s not funny,” you protest, although the corners of your lips are quirking up in amusement at her ridiculous laughter.

“What did I tell you?” Natasha struggles to get the words out in between chuckles. “I knew he was gonna do this-”

“Yeah, so did I, but I didn’t think he’d do it this soon-!”

“I’m surprised he didn’t do it sooner,” Natasha moves around a little before propping her phone up against her knees so that you can see her sitting comfortably in her bed. She starts picking at her own black acrylics, “and you can’t deny, bunny-”

“Don’t say I deserve this,” you narrow your eyes at her, and Natasha only sends you her signature smirk.

“I wouldn’t say you deserve it, per se,” Natasha begins, “but you’ve gotta admit,” she says your name, clearly on the verge of laughter again, “I like a party as much as the next girl, but you do go a little overboard-”

“I wouldn’t say overboard,” you insist, suddenly taking up a very keen interest in your cuticles. “Here’s what it is: Mother doesn’t like the fact that I don’t like her and Daddy’s just flat out disappointed in me for no reason-”

“-apart from the fact that you very nearly got caught doing lines of blow off of Senator Pierce’s son-”

“Shhhh,” you interrupt her, closing your eyes and pressing a finger to your lips while shaking your head, unable to fight the growing grin on your face. “That was one time-”

“You mean the one time you got caught-?”

“Yes, Natasha, that’s what I mean. Anyway - you never call me like this unless you need something - thought you were gonna text me instead. What’s up? Is it Bru-”

“Oh, no,” Natasha quickly cuts you off, her cheeks flushing red. “Bruce and I have been over for a while now-”

“You were just talking about him last week-”

“Yeah, yeah,” she deflects, tapping her fingers on her thigh. “I was actually calling to see if you wanted to go shopping for Parker’s party that’s tonight-?”

“Yes, absolutely yes - why would you even have to ask-?”

“Okay, cool,” she interrupts you, smiling toothily. “Get Jarvis to get you there by 2:30 - I wanna go to the Louis store: the summer collection just dropped-”

“Sounds perfect-”

“But one more thing,” she says your name again but in a more concerned tone. You finish your glass of water and set it on the coffee table before leaning forward slightly.

“What’s going on, Nat?”

“I’m worried about you, bunny,” both her eyes and her tone have softened drastically, making you purse your lips. “What’re you gonna do now that your dad’s not giving you any more money?”

You sigh loudly through your nose, shaking your head. “I don’t know, Nat,” you admit, snapping a hair tie against the skin of your wrist rapidly. “I’ll just have to find a job - or do more sponsorships and ads and get back into modeling and maybe actually try acting this time?”

Her green eyes pin you to your couch, even through the screen, and she scrutinizes your face for almost a full thirty seconds before scrunching up her nose and nodding hesitantly. “Alright. As long as you’re sure that you can make it work… because if not, I have an option that I think you may like…”

Your eyebrows shoot to your hairline as you motion for her to continue.

“Y’know how Wanda got really into that thing a couple of years ago?”

Your brain works overtime, trying to remember exactly what it was that Wanda was doing - all you remember is that it was fairly secretive and she didn’t tell you a lot about why she kept sneaking around.

“She was seeing that older guy,” you snap your fingers when you remember, Natasha’s slow nod confirming it, and then promptly frown because-

“What does this have to do with me?” You stare directly into Natasha’s eyes as she falters, obviously wondering if it’s too late to just backtrack altogether - yes, it is - and then she sighs.

“She wasn’t just seeing him,” your best friend starts slowly, choosing her words with great care, “she was his sugar baby.”

Now, this is news to you.

“You’re fucking with me,” you scoff in disbelief. “Wanda?”

Natasha keeps nodding, blowing her bubblegum between her rouge-painted lips until it pops with a sharp snap. “I’m serious, you can go ask her. But believe me, I was just as surprised as you when she first told me-”

“She didn’t tell me,” you murmur, something akin to betrayal burning your tear ducts. Natasha only barks out a laugh and clucks her tongue at you in a decidedly motherly way.

“Of course she didn’t tell you,” the redhead snorts, shaking her head. “She didn’t want you getting any ideas,” she says your name through a laugh, “you were - what - like eighteen two years ago? That would’ve been questionable at best -”

“But you guys didn’t know that I was gonna do anything-”

“Come on, bunny,” Natasha pins you with a look that shuts you up almost immediately. “Give us some credit - we’re not dumb and we know you-”

“Fine,” you drag out the last syllable of the word childishly. “So why mention it to me now?”

“Because you’re old enough… and in a situation where your Daddy’s not paying for any of your stuff anymore.”

You tilt your head to the side, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“Yeah, okay, but I’ve got, like, a lot of other opportunities that I don’t even need to work for,” you tell her cockily, crossing your arms over your chest defensively. “Why should I take this one when I could get any other real job so easily?”

Natasha’s lips curve into that same smirk. “Because you’re a whore.”

You collapse into a fit of giggles but she’s right. Really and truly, you are - what you like to call - a self-proclaimed slut. But any woman who’s free enough in her sexuality seems to be one these days, so you own the title that’s been hurled at you like an insult for so many years. You wear it with pride... for the most part, but not too much pride because you still have parents who still - somehow - think you’re a total virgin.

(you are still a virgin but your promiscuity makes people think otherwise)

“Right,” you agree easily, tapping your nails on the arm of the couch.

“Just something for you to think about,” Natasha hums, checking the time on her watch before rubbing the sleeve of her white Balenciaga hoodie over her face “Now, leave me alone. I’ve gotta go get ready; I’ll see you in a few.”

Without any further conversation, she ends the call and leaves you laughing light-heartedly although something heavy continues to weigh on your conscience. A sugar daddy. You can’t lie to yourself and say that it’s something that you’ve never thought about before - because it most definitely is - and it’s been the shameless subject of some of your filthiest dreams. Are you going to lie and say that you don’t have an… affinity for older men? No, you aren’t. Are you gonna tell yourself that the idea of a man spoiling you doesn’t make heat burn in your core? Absolutely not. However, you’ve never thought of yourself as the submissive type. Your confidence - no, cockiness has always been a real defining trait for you and that’s always worked in your favor when it comes to romance or even sex. You take what you want, rather than waiting for it to come to you. Although, you have a feeling that an attitude like that could get you in a lot of trouble in circumstances like these.

But what’s life without a little danger?

—

You’ve put on a tight, cropped black t-shirt and on top, a brown Fendi mini dress with thin spaghetti straps that clings to your body like a second skin; your feet are clad in heeled Louboutin ankle boots. Grabbing your black Prada bag and almost comically giant black, square Burberry sunglasses, you stare at your reflection in the mirror. You only put on a little bit of blush, mascara, and tinted lipgloss, accessorizing with small golden hoops, an array of rings that have been gifted to you by either your father or your ex-boyfriends and a simple gold necklace that spells out ‘bunny’ in cursive, a gift from Natasha. Satisfied, you slide your sunglasses onto your face and head to the elevator, phone in hand.

When you reach the lobby, Jarvis is waiting for you, holding the door open with a kind smile on his face.

“Miss,” he greets you, ushering you out the door. You basically jump on him, winding your arms around his neck and he chuckles as you sway back and forth in your embrace.

“Afternoon, Jarvis,” you grin at him.

The two of you walk outside to the black Range Rover with the tinted windows - black matches your outfit today - and as you climb in the back, your security detail split up into the other SUVs in front and behind you.

“So, what’s the plan today?” Jarvis asks you conversationally, stopping at a red light not even 15 seconds after you pull away from the front of your apartment. Damn New York traffic.

“Nat and I are going to Nordstrom’s,” you tell him despite the fact that he already knows, but he nods regardless. “And then Peter Parker’s hosting a party tonight.”

“And will you be needing a ride to that event?”

“No thanks, J,” you shoot him a smile before looking back down at your phone. “I’ll probably get a ride with Natasha.”

Jarvis nods and the rest of the ride passes in comfortable silence, the radio playing softly and the clicking of your nails on your phone screen the only sounds in the car.

—

“There’s absolutely no way you’re wearing that-”

“Shut up, Nat!” you squeal, grabbing the dress off the rack. “It’s kinda cute!”

Your best friend rolls her eyes at you fondly, staring at the monstrosity that you’re clutching in your hands.

“Tell me you’re kidding,” she deadpans, searching your face almost desperately for any sign of sarcasm.

You act offended: “I’m not!”

Nat just pokes you in the sides, tugs on your earlobe, and continues her hunt, which makes you burst into loud laughter and leaves the store employees looking at the two of you  in what you’ve come to recognize as contained, professional amusement.

—

It’s about an hour before the party starts when you even start thinking about getting ready. In a Versace robe with your hair wrapped up in a towel, you’re scrolling through Instagram with a mud mask on. Nat comes into the room and shrieks at the sight of your face, making you flick your eyes up and grin as wide as the mask lets you. With her hand over her heart, she stares at you dryly while silent little chuckles shake your whole body.

“You’re in a good mood,” she remarks, eyeing you with an air of suspicion.

“Of course I am, Nat,” you look at her in disbelief. “I’m about to get wasted tonight-”

She interrupts you by calling your name out in a warning tone. Your only response is a dramatic roll of your eyes.

“We’re going so that we can have fun, not so you can go on a bender-”

“I won’t!” you drop your phone and throw your hands up in exasperation. “Holy shit, Mom - do you have no confidence in me?!”

Loud silence hangs in the air for a minute while Nat just blinks at you.

“...remember when you left me alone in Manhattan because you went to go trip on acid with Senator Coulson’s son-”

“Oh my God, Nat, okay, I get it - I’m a shitty friend and a drug addict, blah blah blah, whatever-”

“You’re not an addict,” she corrects you. “You just... really like doing drugs.”

You shrug, stretching your arms over your head, bringing them back down and then slapping your hands loudly on the bare skin of your thighs. The sound makes Nat flinch which amuses you mildly before you yawn loudly.

“Need me to help you with anything before I start getting ready?” you offer, knowing that once you start getting ready, you’re going to be in your own little world for about an hour and a half.

Natasha - who is significantly less high-maintenance than you - shakes her head. You nod, standing up and heading into her bathroom to wash the mud off your face.

“Did you think about what I told you earlier?” she asks, following you into the spacious room to lay on the chaise tucked against the wall behind you. You lock eyes with her in the mirror as she stretches herself out like a feline.

“Yeah,” you say nonchalantly. “Just for a little, but I don’t know if that kinda thing is for me.”

She runs her tongue over her bottom lip, looking down at her nails. “Oh, okay. I was just wondering ‘cause Wanda said there would be some people that she knows are into that kinda thing at Parker’s tonight-”

Oh, now your interest is peaked. You whip around, towel still in hand from drying your face, and stare her dead in the eye.

“For real?”

“Yeah, but if you’re not really interested-”

“Shut up, Natasha, you know I’m interested.” Your heart beats fast in your chest and your teeth catch on your lower lip, gnawing on it gently. Your fingers come back up to your wrist and stretch the elastic so that it bounces back against your skin. “Like… a lot of them will be there?”

She nods, regarding you with cool interest. “At least that’s what Wanda said. She’s better versed in this whole thing than I am.”

You can only bob your head up and down, suddenly nervous about attending this party. Natasha can sense it, putting a comforting hand on your arm.

“Look, bunny, it’ll be fine,” she gives you a reassuring smile. “They’ll love you. And if you change your mind, you won’t even have to interact with them in the first place; you’ll just be like any other person attending this thing. But Wanda knows a lot of them - that should be reassuring enough: she knows all about these guys, so it’s not like she’s going to introduce us to any major creeps.”

“Okay.”

—

“Okay,” you breathe out. Okay, you can do this. You’ve met presidents and prime ministers, singers and actors, kings and queens, but you’ve never been this nervous in your entire life.

Granted, none of those people were asking you to exchange sex for money, so it’s not really the same thing.

You’re wearing Dolce & Gabbana tonight - because they asked you to - and the golden silk dress that hits your mid-thigh and hugs your body so tight that it looks as if you were poured into it makes it all worth it. It shows off all of the dips and curves of your body and paired with your Alexander Vauthier clear slingback heels and a gold Vanina pearl-embellished handbag, you feel like a million dollars (even though that’s definitely not what this outfit costs). Natasha is standing next to you in a black Dolce & Gabbana corset dress - because they asked her to - and black red bottoms.

Your long red nails come up to toy with your ‘bunny’ necklace while you scan the massive crowds for a friendly face. It’s true that between the two of you, it is very much likely that you know - or know of - everybody here. But you don’t spare them a second glance despite the fact that they’re ogling you. No, you don’t linger on the bulging muscles and impressive height nor the full lips and pretty hair like you usually do. Instead, you’re looking for-

“Wanda! ” you call out, eyes falling on her reddish-brown hair flowing down her back in loose waves.

She’s standing by the bar, speaking to someone that you don’t know when she turns around, blue eyes quickly landing on you as she gives you that charming smile. Grabbing Nat’s hand, you run over to her and envelop her in a warm embrace. She squeals loudly, stumbling back as you realize that she’s probably already had a few drinks by now.

“Hi, guys,” she greets the two of you, looking up and down at your outfits approvingly. “You look hot.”

You return the compliment and pressing a kiss to her cheek, you stroke her hair while she and Nat engage in conversation. You take the opportunity to stare at all of the different groups of people who have gathered on Peter’s rooftop. There must be at least 300 people here already - the night has barely started - and you can see not a single person who looks like an old man. You furrow your brow, squinting and pushing up on your toes to see if you can see anyone that you don’t vaguely recognize from somewhere or another.

“Lookin’ for someone?”

The voice is unmistakable.

“Peter!”

He says your name in what’s only a mildly offensive mockery of your tone. You abandon Wanda and throw yourself into the arms of the boy, ruffling his already unkempt hair and also smacking a loud kiss on his cheek. He chuckles, his arm winding around your waist as he says hello to both Wanda and Nat.

Apparently you’re in a hugging mood tonight.

“I’m glad you guys could all make it,” he smiles so sweetly that you kiss him again, his cheeks turning flaming red. Peter has always been like a little brother to you although he’s actually a year older. You both went to high school and college together, and it helps that your mother and his aunt are also really good friends.

Except you don’t know how anybody could want to be friends with your demon of a mother.

“We couldn’t miss this,” Wanda gestures around her, pinching Peter on the cheek like a child which makes him frown. “Where’s MJ, Petey?”

You all “ooh” like high schoolers and Peter’s face turns somehow even redder - your heart swells - and he takes this as his cue to leave, slipping away and mumbling something about having to greet guests like a good host. It makes you all giggle, watching the boy with fond eyes.

Wanda abruptly turns to you, downing the champagne that she picks up off of the tray of one of the passing waiters.

“So Nat told me that you’re looking for a sugar daddy-”

“Shhh!” you hiss at her, clamping your hands tightly over her mouth because oh my god, Wanda, please speak louder. This makes Natasha laugh into her own glass of champagne.“Oh my god, why are you yelling?”

“Okay,” she drags it out and rolls her eyes, leaning into your group of three and whispering exaggeratedly. “So I heard you’re looking for a sugar daddy.”

“Sure, okay,” you whisper back, looking around before standing up straight because it’s just occurred to you how sketchy you all must look huddled in a circle like this. “So like… how does this work? Do we just… go up to them? Is there like some kind of code-?”

Wanda snorts loudly, throwing her head back and laughing. Your face slips into a pout and you cross your arms over your chest.

“No, idiot,” Wanda replies, pulling a tube of lipstick and a mirror out of her clutch. She starts to apply it while speaking to you. “They’re here already, and we’ve just gotta go up to them,” she smacks her lips together with finality, “and tell them we’re interested. Or, more like you’re going up to them and we’re here for moral support.”

“What happened to your guy, Wanda?” Nat asks, signaling to the bartender for a refill.

“And how did you get into it?” you ask her, one eyebrow quirking.

She smiles conspiratorially and runs her hands carefully through her hair. “There’s an app. And Viz and I are still together-”

“Viz? ” you almost choke on your own spit because you laugh so hard. Natasha joins you in a far more respectful way, her shoulders shaking as she picks up her now-full glass. Getting literal daggers thrown at your face would’ve been less piercing than the look that Wanda’s giving you right now, so you decide to shut your mouth and listen.

“Yes,” she says your name condescendingly, which makes you roll your eyes. “His name is Vision - it’s a long, personal story that I won’t share with either of you because you both fucking suck,” she stares the two of you down, “but that’s his nickname and what everyone calls him. It’s kinda cool, you know: super contemporary. Like Madonna or Beyoncé or Cher-”

“Okay,” Natasha licks her lips, putting one of her hands on her hip. “We get it, Wanda, thanks. But you told us that you guys broke up-?”

“Yeah, we just took a break,” Wanda shrugs. “Now, we’re back together and better than ever.”

You and Nat share a look before blinking back at Wanda, nodding your heads compliantly.

“So,” you rock back on your heels and start snapping your hair tie again. “Are we gonna go do this, or?”

Wanda’s eyes drift down to your wrist before she places a hand on top of it, stilling your actions. Your eyes are wide and glossy, your teeth worrying your lip.

“What’re you nervous about?” Wanda begins quietly, rubbing circles into your skin with her thumb. “They’ll love you - they’re all super cool and really hot. I think that the only problem that you’ll have is that you’ll be spoilt for choice.”

Your laugh comes out watery but sincere nonetheless, so Wanda loops her arm through yours while Natasha grips your hand tightly.

“Maybe we should get you a drink-”

“No, Nat,” you inhale deeply. “I wanna be completely sober for this. After… after, yeah. I’m definitely gonna need a drink after.”

You all laugh while Wanda weaves you through swathes of socialites, stopping to say hello to some people. When you finally make your way all the way to the other end of the roof, you can see why you didn’t see them before. There is a set of stairs that lead down to what looks like a zen garden. Tall torches flame a collection of very comfortable-looking couches are placed around a stone firepit and on top of those couches are a group of some of the most handsome men that you’ve ever laid eyes on.

The first one to make eye contact with you is astoundingly attractive, so much so that you almost trip over your own feet. You know- you can just tell that he smells incredible. His mahogany skin shines in the light of the fire, and his full lips curve over a gap-toothed smile that he shoots your way; it immediately makes a smile of your own spread on your face. His beard is lined up to perfection and there’s a mischievous sparkle in his whiskey brown eyes. A little bit of his chest hair pokes out from underneath the top of his almost halfway-unbuttoned dress shirt and your mouth waters. You almost feel sorry for the slacks that are hugging his thighs sinfully tight because his powerful legs look like they’re about to burst through the seams.

You decide that you’ve never wanted to be a pair of pants so badly in your life.

Jesus Christ. These men aren’t even close to what I expected.

All you can say is that you’re glad to see that the same caliber of attractiveness holds up for the rest of them.

The man next to him has longer brunette hair that hits his shoulders and you just want to run your hands through the silky strands. He has a bit more of a rugged look, his facial hair groomed purposely to give off that energy. He’s wearing a tight, long-sleeve black shirt and black slacks too, the monochrome outfit highlighting every inch of his well-toned body. When you look at him, he’s staring down into his glass, the sweetest smile on his face that makes you bite the inside of your cheek. But then he looks up at you, and you’re taken aback by the vibrance of his steel-blue eyes. It stops your breath momentarily, and you have time to regain it when he taps the man next to him on the knee and points towards the three of you.

The man in question raises his head, face shielded partially by a pair of yellow-tinted glasses. His blonde hair is slicked back away from his face, and you take a second to admire his prominent bone structure. But he’s looking right past you, eyes boring holes into Wanda which makes you stop your ogling.

You assume that this must be Vision.

There’s one of the men who isn’t facing you and doesn’t even turn around to do so, but you can make out his extremely broad shoulders clad in a white t-shirt even from where you stand a distance away. Even the back of his head is attractive, his thick neck and pushed-back blonde hair. Wanda tugs on your arm impatiently, evidently eager to reach her man.

The three of you linked together almost fall down the stairs before you regain your collective composures and strut over there with all the confidence that you don’t feel. Wanda lets you and Nat go when you draw closer, fixing her hair before the brightest grin that you’ve ever seen on her face shines at Vision. He opens his arms to greet her and you have to look away because of the very much x-rated kiss that she plants on him: you feel like you’re intruding on something.

“Jesus,” Nat snorts in your ear, her hand still resting in yours. This makes you giggle, high-pitched and nervously, so Nat squeezes your hand before she pulls you forwards.

Wanda has situated herself in the lap of her man, his hand resting gently on her hip. She clears her throat, cheeks red from her public display of affection, and begins to speak.

“Hi, guys,” she says, waving and smiling at all the men politely. They all greet her back warmly, raising their hands too. “These are my best friends. This is Nat,” she gestures to the girl next to you and Nat just nods her head in acknowledgment.

“And this is the friend I told you about,” Wanda introduces you by name to the four men who she points at in turn: “Bunny, this is Sam Wilson, Bucky Barnes, Vision, and Steve Rogers.”

Giving a little awkward wave of your hand, you unglue your eyes from the floor and scan all of the men up close now.

They’re all so much prettier up close.

From this distance, you can now clearly see how pretty Sam’s eyes are, how bright Bucky’s smile is, how strong Vision’s jaw is, and-

Holy shit.

It’s obvious that you must’ve died and gone to heaven some time in these past few minutes because Adonis’ blue eyes are scorching holes into your face. His high-neck white long sleeve sweater is probably in his size but the way that his muscles flex under the material is telling you otherwise. The size of his biceps - probably as big as your head - briefly make you wonder what they would feel like wrapped around your neck-

If you stare hard enough at his pecs - which you are - you can see the hard peaks of his nipples; you decide that there’s something so sensual about that and if that alone didn’t just make you wet, you decide that you can’t be human. The sweater is tucked into grey checkered pants with a black Yves Saint Laurent belt wrapped around his surprisingly narrow waist. He’s leaning back in his seat with his huge hands on his thighs, his strong legs spread wide almost an invitation for you to crawl between them. Your eyes move past his clearly tailored pants to his huge feet clad in black Versace loafers and you can feel the liquid that pools in your cunt. Realizing that you’re shamelessly checking this poor man out, your eyes snap up to his face only to have the breath completely knocked out of you, not for the first time tonight.

Not only is his body complete perfection, but his face is also arguably even better. His defined jawline gives you the urge to run your tongue over it but that beard. Your squeeze your thighs together because you want to know how it feels between your thighs. His ears are perfectly proportional to his head - a characteristic that should never be underestimated, mind you - and his cheekbones are high. But you can’t ignore the fullness nor the rosy pigmentation of his lips - his lower lip is fuller than the top and you wanna bite it so bad and he’s smirking a little. When you finally lock eyes with him, you feel as if you’re drowning but admittedly even if you were, you wouldn’t mind doing so in the blue of his irises. They darken slightly when they train onto yours, and one of his perfect eyebrows lifts questioningly.

This whole interaction has only lasted about five seconds but it feels like you’re in a movie, everything moving in slow motion. He stands up abruptly and you do actually choke at his size, his sheer height and width alone soaking your panties. One hand in his pocket, he takes slow, measured steps until he stands directly in front of you, not even sparing a glance at Natasha.

“Bunny, huh?” you pray that your knees won’t give out at his deep baritone and you can’t take your eyes away from his, even when he sticks out his hand. “Nice to meet you. Steve Rogers.”

tagged: @literaturefeen​ @donutloverxo​ @evnscvll​ @stargazingfangirl18​

[olderthannetfic]

It's really surprising that you're so well versed in older fandoms and yet participate in new popular ones (that cdrama, kpop) is this by design? Im in my twenties and my interest turnover is already way slower than it used to be

You know, that’s a really interesting question. I wouldn’t say it’s by design exactly in that I do tend to just follow what strikes my fancy, and I can’t force myself to want to write fic for just anything. (I find it easier to like reading fic without serious involuntary emotional investment, but writing takes more. Vidding I can do on command most of the time, but I don’t usually bother unless I have a lot of feels or I’m fulfilling someone’s prompt.)

However, me getting into BTS was 100% due to me wanting to understand BTS enough to explain to people who weren’t very interested but wanted to know what was going on in fandom lately. Under normal circumstances, I run the dance party at Escapade, the oldest extant slash con. We borrowed vividcon’s thing of playing fanvids on the wall--all of them set to dance music--as the soundtrack for the dance party. This means I’m creating a 3-hour mixtape of fannishness, which has amazing potential to make people feel in the know about Fandom Today... and equal potential to make them feel alienated if nothing they care about shows up. Only about 100-150 people attend the con, so it really is possible to make a playlist that feels inclusive yet informative--it just takes a huge amount of work.

Every year, I do a lot of research on which fandoms are getting big and look for vids from vidders people won’t have heard of, so there is an element of consciously trying to keep up with things. Generally, I only get into these fandoms myself if I had no idea what they were and then suddenly, oops, they’re my kryptonite, like the buddy cop android plot in Detroit: Become Human, which sucked me in hard for like 6 months on the basis of a vid.

(So if you’re into cross-fandom meta and associated stuff as one of your fannish interests, you tend to have broader knowledge of different fandoms, old and new, than if you’re just looking for the next place you’ll read fic. It’s also easier to love vids for unfamiliar things than fic.)

But though I was only looking for a basic primer on BTS, BTS has 7 members with multiple names and no clear juggernaut pairing, not to mention that AU that runs through the music videos and lots of other context to explain. The barrier to understanding WTF was going on at all was high enough that to know enough to explain, I had to be thoroughly exposed... And once I was over that hurdle, oops, I had a fandom.

--

In terms of old vs. new, here’s the thing: kpop fandoms in English and c-drama fandoms in English right now feel a lot like anime fandom in English did in the early 00s. I had a Buddy Cops of the 70s phase in the middle, but my current fannishness is actually a return to my older fannishness in many ways.

What do I mean about them being similar?

Yes, I know some wanker will show up to say I think China, Korea, and Japan are indistinguishable, but that’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about the way that I used to routinely meet Italian and French and German fans, Argentinian and Mexican, Malaysian and Indonesian and Filipino too. English-language fandom of SPN or MCU may have all those fans from all those countries, but it feels very American most of the time. English-language fandom of a non-English-language canon is more overtly about using English as a lingua franca.

It also tends to attract people who as a sideline to their fannishness are getting into language learning and translation, which are my other passion in life after fanworks fandom. (I speak only English and Spanish and a bit of Japanese, but I’ve studied German, French, Russian, Mandarin, Old English, and now Korean.)

Nerds arguing about methods of language learning and which textbooks are good and why is my jam. This is all over the place in English-language fandoms of Chinese, Japanese, and Korean media. Those fandoms also tend to be full of speakers coming from a Germanic or Romance languages background who face similar hurdles in learning these languages. (In other words, if you’re a native Japanese speaker trying to learn Korean, the parts that will be hard for you are different than if you’re an English speaker, but you’re also usually not doing fandom in English.)

There’s also an element of scarcity and difficulty of access and a communal attempt to construct a canon (in the other sense) of stuff from that country that pertains to one’s fannishness. So, for example, a primer explaining the genre of xianxia is highly relevant to being a n00b Untamed fan, but just any old thing about China is not. A c-drama adapted from a danmei webnovel is perhaps part of the new pantheon of Chinese shit we’re all getting into, but just any old drama from decades ago is probably not... unless it’s a genre precursor to something else we care about. Another aspect here is that while Stuff I Can Access As A N00b Who Doesn’t Speak The Language may be relatively scarce, there’s a vast, vast wealth of stuff that exists.

This is what it felt like to be an anime fan in the US in 2000. As translation got more commercial and more crappy series were licensed and dumped onto an already glutted market, the vibe changed. No longer were fans desperately trying to learn enough of the language to translate or spending their time cataloguing what existed or making fanworks about a show they stuck with for a bit: the overall community focus turned to an endless race of consumption to keep up with all of the latest releases. That’s a perfectly valid way of being fannish, but if I wanted that, I’d binge US television 24/7.

Anime fandom got bigger, but what I liked about anime fandom in English died, and I moved on. (Okay, I first moved on to Onmyouji, which is a live action Japanese thing, but still.)

Hardcore weeaboos and now fans of Chinese and Korean stuff don’t stop at language: people get excited about cooking, my other other great passion. Times a thousand if the canon is something like The Sleuth of the Ming Dynasty, which is full of loving shots of food preparation. People get excited about history! Mandarin and Japanese may share almost nothing in terms of grammar or phonology, but all of East Asia has influence from specific Chinese power centers historically, and there are commonalities to historical architecture and clothing that I love.

I fell out of love with the popular anime art styles as they changed, and I’m not that into animation in general these days. (I still own a shitton of manga in art styles I like, like Okano Reiko’s Onmyouji series.) I’ve become a filmmaker over the last decade, and I’m very excited about beautiful cinematography and editing. With one thing and another, I’m probably not going to get back into anime fandom, but it’s lovely to revisit the cultural aspects I enjoyed about it via live-action media.

BTS surprised me too, to be honest. I really dislike that early 90s R&B ballad style that infests idol music (not just Korean--believe me, I resisted many rounds of “But Johnny’s Entertainment though!” back in the day). While I like some of the dance pop, I just don’t care. But OH NO, BTS turn out to be massive conscious hip hop fanboys, and their music sounds different. I have some tl;dr about my reactions in the meta I wrote about one of my fanvids, which you can find on Dreamwidth here.

--

But back to your comment about turnover: I know fans from the 70s who’ve had one great fannish love and that’s it and more who were like that but eventually moved on to a second or third. They’re... really fannishly monogamous in a way I find hard to comprehend. It was the norm long ago, but even by the 90s when far more people were getting into fandom, it was seen as a little weird. By now, with exponentially more people in fandom, it’s almost unheard of. I think those fans still exist, even as new people joining, but we don’t notice them. They were always rare, but in the past, only people like that had the stamina to get over the barriers to entry and actually become the people who made zines or were willing to be visibly into fanfic in eras when that was seen as really weird. On top of that, there’s an element of me, us, judging the past by what’s left: only people with an intense and often single passion are visible because other people either drifted away or have seamlessly disappeared into some modern fandom. They don’t say they’re 80 or 60 or 40 instead of 20, so nobody knows.

In general, I’m a small fandoms and rare ships person. My brain will do its best to thwart me by liking whatever has no fic even in a big fic fandom... (Except BTS because there is literally fic for any combination of them, like even more than for the likes of MCU. Wow. Best fandom evar!) So I have an incentive to not get complacent and just stick with one fandom because I would very soon have no ability to be in fandom at all.

My appetite for Consuming All The Things has slowed way down, but it also goes in waves, and a lot of what I’m consuming is what I did back in 2000: journal articles and the limited range of English-language books on the history of m/m sex and romance in East Asia. It’s not so much that I have a million fandoms as that I’m watching a few shows as an expression of my interest in East Asian costume dramas and East Asian history generally.

I do like to sit with one thing and experience it deeply rather than moving on quickly, but the surface expression of this has changed depending on whether I’m more into writing fic or more into doing research or something else.

But yes, I do do a certain amount of trying to stay current, often as a part of research for fandom meta or to help other people know what’s going on. Having a sense of what’s big doesn’t automatically mean getting into all those things, but I think some fans who are older-in-fandom and/or older-in-years stop being open to even hearing what’s new. And if you’ve never heard of it, you’ll never know if you might have liked it.

[respectablesentiment]

It’s Tuesday afternoon and like clockwork, Ellie Williams and Abigail Anderson are in the arcade. Every Tuesday and Thursday they arrive within minutes of Dina starting her shift. They don’t come on Mondays as Abby has swim practice, Wednesdays are out cause they both have soccer, and on Fridays Ellie has baseball. Week in and week out, they are here. Bickering and jeering at each other as they bounce between machines, hogging Street Fighter and stuffing ribbons of tickets into their bags. -- prompt: redemption, day 6 of elliedina week small town 90s AU one-shot, Dina works in an arcade and her best customers are Ellie and her meathead cousin

(day 1: ache) | (day 2: dawn) | (day 3: trouble) | (day 4: family) | (day 5: abandonment)

or you can read ‘crushes’ here if you prefer:

crushes 

It’s Tuesday afternoon and like clockwork, Ellie Williams and Abigail Anderson are in the arcade.

Every Tuesday and Thursday they arrive within minutes of Dina starting her shift. They don’t come on Mondays as Abby has swim practice, Wednesdays are out cause they both have soccer, and on Fridays Ellie has baseball.

Week in and week out, they are here. Bickering and jeering at each other as they bounce between machines, hogging Street Fighter and stuffing ribbons of tickets into their bags.

Dina reckons they’d come before school if they didn’t have track multiple times a week.

She doesn’t know how they do it, feeling mildly out of breath just rushing from school to her shift. But they’re gorgeous and sun kissed and athletic and it shows. Strong arms, built shoulders, trim waists, handsome and freckled and gay.

So gay.

She’s unsure if she’s ever seen Abby wearing sleeves outside of her soccer uniform, and every other shirt she owns looks as though she’s ripped the sleeves off haphazardly.

Ellie’s hair is shaggy, still lingering in the awkward stages of a mullet as it grows from a shorter cut, sticking out at old angles under a baseball cap and often half stuck in the collar of one of Ellie’s flannel shirts.

Dina loses too much time each week thinking about it. Ellie’s hair looks soft, her smile is lopsided, her voice scratchy and she just does it for Dina.

There’s something about Ellie that just works.

It’s always worked.

Dina had moved to Jackson when she was fifteen; she sat behind Ellie in math for two years and she barely learnt a thing. Awestruck and stupid at the slope of her neck and the flex of her arms.

She was better now, her tongue no longer heavy in her mouth and the urge to flee was long abandoned.

Dina had worked in the arcade for almost two years, since she was sixteen, and she’d spent many shifts sitting at the prize counter studying for exams, trying and struggling to learn what she’d missed in math that day.

“Hey Dina,” Ellie says warmly, breaking her out of her thoughts.

“Hi Ellie,” Dina greets, wiping her face and hoping she wasn’t drooling as she forces a smile.

Their friendship was new and tentative. Dina still mildly nervous at times after crushing on Ellie from a distance all through middle school. She likes to believe at times that her crush was gone but over the last few months of short conversations, she knew she was slipping.

“Did you have a good day today?” Ellie asks easily.

“Yeah, it was alright,” Dina shrugs, fidgeting with her pen and looking down at her homework. “We got that history essay today though, so I think another wave of assignments is incoming.”

Ellie grimaces. “Yeah, I’m not looking forward to it,” she says, rubbing the back of her neck and Dina feels two years of her life peel away as she watches Ellie’s bicep bulge in the movement. “I’m not the best with writing.”

“I- I thought you wrote all the time?” Dina asks, swallowing thickly. “You’ve always got that notebook of yours out at lunch.”

Ellie’s cheeks turn a little pink and she glances away. “Don’t tell anyone,” Ellie says, leaning in to whisper conspiratorially. “But it’s all just song lyrics and bad poetry.”

Dina grins, butterflies almost violent in her stomach, her gaze lingering on the slight touch of hazel in Ellie’s green eyes.

“Essays on the other hand,” Ellie smiles crookedly. “Not my thing.”

Dina nods jerkily. “Yeah, yeah I get that.” She blinks, registering her words. “I mean- I’ll pick an essay over math any day but-” She shrugs. “Everyone is different.”

“I’d prefer math,” Ellie says, resting her hands on the counter. “It’s my favourite subject.”

“It’s my worst,” Dina admits.

“If you ever want to study together,” Ellie offers bashfully, waving a hand in the air. “Let me know?”

“I- yeah, yeah I will,” Dina says awkwardly, thinking about how entirely unhelpful that would be and how desperately she’d want that.

“Ellie!” Abby’s booming voice calls across the room. “You gettin’ change or what, dude?”

Ellie sighs. “I’m sorry about her,” she says, rolling her eyes. “She was dropped on her head as a baby.”

Dina laughs, holding out a hand to take some bills from Ellie. “It’s all good,” she smiles, opening the till. “She doesn’t really have an inside voice, does she?”

“Nup,” Ellie grins.

Dina exchanging the money without question, forty bucks in quarters is excessive but they both know it’s nothing new. Both Ellie and Abby worked weekends at their family business Miller Construction to fund it. Neither of the last names are Miller but Dina didn’t question it, always stuck on the image of Ellie in a toolbelt more than anything else. Sometimes they wrap up early on Sundays and come in covered in sawdust and sweat, ready to spend their entire pay and leave Dina breathless.

“We’re getting close,” Ellie says, looking up at the water gun on the top shelf behind Dina.

“I feel like you’d be a lot closer if you just bought one outright,” Dina says teasingly.

“We could never find a beauty like that in the wild,” Ellie says dramatically, accepting the rolls of quarters as Dina hands them over.

She’s not entirely wrong. Jackson was a small town and there certainly wasn’t another place around where they’d find it outside of actually driving to a city.

Dina doesn’t get the appeal, but she admires the dedication.

--

In the following weeks, Ellie and Abby start to come in on days after practice with wet hair and eager expressions.  

“We’re getting really close,” Ellie says again one Monday afternoon. The first time she’s shown up without Abby in tow. “Abby thinks we might hit it tonight,” she continues.

They’d been chatting for a handful of hours, Ellie had come up to get change and lingered to chat until she eventually just sat on the counter. The conversation was easy, Ellie’s smile was bright, and Dina didn’t want it to end.

So of course, Abby finally arrives.

She narrows her eyes questioningly when she sees Ellie at the counter and Ellie is almost immediately pink as she hops off the counter.

“How’d you go so far?” Abby asks.

“I, uh,” Ellie runs a hand through her hair sheepishly. “I haven’t started.”

“Dude,” Abby groans, punching Ellie in the shoulder. “Come on, get your head in the game!”

Ellie winces at the punch. “That was hard!” She protests as she shoves Abby. Abby grabs her and they begin to attempt to wrestle each other, their legs twisting as they both attempt the same move to trip the other over.

“Hey!” Dina yells incredulously. “No roughhousing!”

“Sorry, Dina,” Ellie apologises as they break apart, elbowing Abby when the other girl doesn’t speak.

“I’m sorry too,” Abby says lamely.

“Excuse my cousin,” Ellie says. “She doesn’t have any manners ’cause she was raised in a barn.”

“Hey!” Abby frowns. “That’s not true and we’re not cousins.”

“We are cousins,” Ellie says rolling her eyes.

“No, we’re not,” Abby protests.

“We are too!”  

“We are not,” Abby says exasperatedly. “You’re the adopted kid of my dad’s sister’s husband’s brother.”

“Exactly!” Ellie agrees brightly, turning back to Dina with a smile. “So, we’re cousins.”

Dina tries and fails to hide her laughter.

“Your aunt is my aunt but we’re not each other’s aunt’s children,” Abby tries to argue, looking mildly confused. “So we’re like distantly connected but not related and therefore not cousins.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” Ellie says shaking her head. “If my dad is the brother of your aunt’s husband then we’re cousins.”

“We don’t share any grandparents though,” Abby says, scratching her head. “So, we can’t be cousins.”

“Dude, I’m adopted,” Ellie says with a laugh. “It makes no difference if I’m your aunt’s child or your dad’s brother-in-law’s brother’s child, because either way there’s no blood there.”

Abby frowns. “I don’t- I don’t get it.”

“Neither do I,” Dina interjects. “I don’t think I followed any of that.”

“Anyway,” Ellie says. “We’re cousins and we need some more quarters, please and thank you.”

“We just need 217 more tickets,” Abby says, looking up at the water gun.

Dina looks up at the water gun, dust settled on grey and purple body of it. “I don’t know if it’s worth the tickets,” she says apologetically, looking at the small sign reading ‘Redeem for 15,000’ in front of it. “I have no idea much money you’ve spent so far, but you’ve spent a lot.”

“It’s the 1996 CPS 2000 Mk 1 Super Soaker,” Abby says, as though it means something to Dina. “It’s priceless.”

“Is it?” Dina asks.

“It’s the first elastic pressure Super Soaker ever made,” Ellie adds.

The addition doesn’t clarify anything for Dina and her blank expression must tell them as much.

“It was discontinued last year for the 1998 CPS 2500,” Abby frowns. “The 2500 has an even smaller nozzle than the CPS 2000 Mk 2.”

“Is that- is that what this one is?” Dina asks.

“This is the first release,” Ellie says. “The Mk 2 has 25% less capacity cause they shortened the pressure gauge and most of them have a different pump with a visible pin…” Her voice trails off, seemingly a little embarrassed.

“The Mk2 and the 2500 are shit compared to this,” Abby says. “This is the most powerful Super Soaker ever produced, better than the 300!”

“Oh wow,” Dina says politely, trying to force enthusiasm into her voice.

“It’s got the best time, output and range,” Abby continues. “I heard that someone once shot a kid in the eye with one and it removed the eye.”

“I really really doubt that,” Dina says. “Regardless, when you do get it, please do not shoot each other in the face.”

“We won’t,” Ellie smiles.

“Redemption will never be as sweet,” Abby whispers to herself, still gazing up at the water gun.

--

They get it by the Thursday, lugging in several backpacks of tickets for Dina to look at.

“We’ve come for redemption,” Abby says in a gravelly voice, her expression only serious for a moment before it cracks and she’s grinning dopily.

Counting the tickets was a chore and Dina didn’t do it as closely as she probably should have, trusting Abby’s count considering how meticulously ordered and bound the tickets were in sets of 250.

When Dina finally hands it over, Abby hugs the gun tightly to her chest. Dina’s mildly concern that Abby might kiss it.

Ellie and Abby’s jaws drop when Dina takes another identical water gun out from under the counter and places it back on the top shelf.

“There’s another-” Ellie says, eyes wide.

“I want it,” Abby whispers.

“Abby, we can’t-” Ellie tries.

“I want it,” Abby says wistfully. “We can totally get it.”

“We cannot,” Ellie protests.

“Think of how powerful we’ll be,” Abby says, bouncing on her feet a little like she’s torn between running off to play with the water gun or to go back to one of the arcade machines.

“I just don’t get it,” Dina mutters to herself.

--

It takes a week until they show up again; she talks to Ellie at times at school, but they don’t share lunch period and it’s not the same.

Her shifts feel longer, the kids seem more annoying and her homework seems to make less sense.

Their arrival makes her disproportionately happy, beaming at them as they come over to the counter to make change.

“I see you still have both eyes, Abby,” Dina says almost affectionately. “Did it live up to all your hopes and dreams?”

“It really did,” Abby says giddily, her eyes sparkling. “We’re gonna get his brother now, I think.”

Dina grins. “By the way, we just got in Mortal Kombat 4.”

“Finally!” Abby yells, smacking the counter before stalking away.

“I like her,” Dina says to Ellie.

“She’s pretty great,” Ellie sighs. There’s a beat of silence before them before Ellie’s peers over the counter. “How’s your homework treating you?”

Dina groans.

“That bad?” Ellie asks, looking apologetic for asking.

“Math is just not my thing,” Dina says, dropping her face into her hands.

“Can I help?” Ellie asks earnestly.

--

It’s later that night when it happens.

They spend an hour looking through the work, Ellie sitting with Dina behind the counter as she works through a handful of example questions in a crooked handwriting.

And it slowly clicks.

Dina’s almost giddy with relief as she understands. “God, I’m so glad we’re friends now,” Dina says honestly.

“Me too,” Ellie smiles softly, her eyes crinkling.

“You know what’s funny?” Dina asks, unable to stop herself.

“What?”  

“It’s funny but I had a huge crush on you like two years ago,” she admits.

Ellie’s jaw drops. “Really?”

Dina nods sheepishly.

“Wait, really? Two years ago?” Ellie asks pressingly.

“Yeah,” Dina flushes.

Ellie swears, smacking the table in front of her and pacing in the small space.

“What?”

“I had a crush on you two years ago,” Ellie groans, rubbing her eyes.

“Oh for fucks sake,” Dina curses, her head in her hands.

“I know,” Ellie sighs.

“Fuuuuck.”

“I know.”

“Why didn’t you ever say anything?” Dina asks, looking up to question Ellie.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Ellie repeats anxiously.

They stare at each other almost angrily in their frustration, tense and regretful. Dina can’t blame her for not saying anything and she knows it.

Two years of what ifs between them.

“You good?”

They both startle, jumping in their skin to turn and find Abby on the other side of the counter, glancing between them and chewing gum lazily.

“She had a crush on me two years ago,” Ellie laments, the words rushing out all at once.

“Okay,” Abby says, blowing a bubble and popping it before continuing. “But like, she still likes you, so what’s the issue?”

Dina has never hated her more.

“I- Abby you-” Ellie stammers, looking angrily at Abby before turning to Dina. “I- I mean, do you?”

Dina swallows before nodding awkwardly.

Ellie looks elated, bouncing on the balls of her feet slightly with restless energy like Abby the week prior. “Do you, uh, do you wanna go on a-?” She clears her throat. “Can I take- Can I please take you on a date? Would you-”

Dina reaches out to stop her, taking Ellie’s hand gently in hers. “I would love to go on a date with you,” she says sincerely, her cheeks are burning, and she knows she’s probably blushing just as much as Ellie.

They smile at each other eagerly, thrumming with excitement and giddy with affection.

“So like,” Abby interrupts. “Can I get some more quarters, though?”

 (Ellie has baseball practice after school the next day. Dina has the night off work, so she sits in the stands, her homework open and ignored in her lap. They go to a diner for burgers and fries afterwards, holding hands across the table, and they have their first kiss that night at Dina’s front door.)

:)

[mcwriting]

The Marriage Project (1)

Omg I can’t believe it’s taken me THIS long to post this. I wrote this chapter probably in like April or May and it freaks me out to finally post but here it is!

My slow burn (American) High School AU with Tom Holland!

All the general info for this series is on the story masterlist, but I’ll list warnings and word counts on every chapter. Chapters will be much longer than my typical 2000 or less babies

Warnings: This will become a mature story in the future (no smut; more info on masterlist). Some profanity in this chapter

Word Count: 4140 (I told you!)

% approximately the 2nd week of August %

Ah, senior year. One last year of high school, one last year of seeing the people you’ve grown up with every day.

You’ve been told it’s easy. The best year ever. And yeah, maybe it will be. It’s not like you’re taking too many hard classes or overloading yourself with extracurriculars, aside from volleyball, soccer, the National Honors Society, and quiz bowl.

(Okay maybe it was a little much, but you loved it anyways)

The only real problem was the certified thorn in your side, Tom Holland. 

He’d essentially been your mortal enemy since the sixth grade when he beat your mile time by only a few seconds. 

Now, it’s not that he was a bully or anything, he was just so insufferable to be around. And yes, everyone always says boys pick on girls when they like them, but rest assured that wasn’t the case. You’d both always hated each other, nothing more. 

You were always competing, and because of that ended up in the same place a lot.

He was in all your honors classes, in NHS, played boys soccer, and did quiz bowl. The only thing you had to yourself was volleyball except, oh wait, his younger brother’s girlfriend was on the team and Tom was his ride home every day.

All these thoughts raced through your head as you walked in on the first day, sitting down in AP calculus as soon as you finished up at your locker. 

Everyone did the “how was your summer?” and “long time no see!” as students filed in. Eventually walked in Tom, and you shot each other a glare as he sat down right next to you.

“Holland.”

“Y/l/n.”

Everyone around you groaned. They all knew you two were forces to be reckoned with and probably dreaded spending another year listening to the two of you bicker everyday.

Though you were often in close proximity, you never really talked much, except to argue. Rarely did you agree unless it was on basic facts, and even then was it hard to admit sometimes.

Because of this, you typically resigned yourselves to only speaking when it came to grades so you could keep a mental tally of who was in the lead. You were both in the running for valedictorian at the end of the year, and you were not about to let Tom win.

%

The week was almost over and things had gone smoothly for the most part. 

Sure, you and Tom had had a couple of spats, but nothing that wasn’t handled quickly. 

He’d been to all of your volleyball games so far, even the summer ones, which meant he was forced to watch you dominate the court as both a setter and right side hitter.

It was a nice little satisfaction. 

Especially because you’d watched him throw some horrendous passes in the preseason football game last week that led to a loss by one touchdown. (Okay, he’d had some good passes too, but they were lucky shots).

You settled into your seat in senior home economics Friday before lunch. The class was your school’s attempt at teaching some life skills for rising adults. For the most part however, it was a glorified cooking and sewing class. You didn’t mind per say, since you could cook up a pre-snack lunch sometimes.

Most of your friends were in there, including your best friend Alexis, whom you hadn’t seen all morning.

You, Alexis, and two other girls stood around a mixing bowl with the ingredients to make chocolate chip cookies since it was a Friday, which Mrs. Flynn called “dessert day.”

“Oh! Before I forget,” your teacher, Mrs. Flynn, started getting everyone’s attention. “This year we’re doing something new for this class! Next week I’ll have you all split into pairs for a semester long marriage project! I will be drawing names out of a hat, so don’t get too comfortable yet. Anyways, be thinking on what kinds of careers you might want and things of that nature! Okay, now get back to your desserts!”

The whole room broke out into chatter the last part of the hour-and-a-half class, people speculating who might end up with who and what jobs they’ll get.

“Oh my God, wouldn’t it be funny if y/n got Tom?” Alexis stated as you stirred chocolate chips into the dough. The other girls laughed as you just snorted.

“Yeah, I’d rather lick the inside of the microwave than be paired up with him for a semester,” you replied, earning more laughter from your friends.

You assumed Tom’s friends were saying the same however, because when you looked over to see how bad their dough looked, he was rolling his eyes as his group pointed in your direction.

%

The next week came and went, and it was once again Friday. Or, as Mrs. Flynn was calling it, Wedding Day.

Every time she’d pull a couple’s name, she was going to make you both come to the front of the class and exchange plastic wedding rings and sign a fake marriage license.

Yay.

Everyone chattered excitedly as she tore up the strips with your names and mixed them around. Finally the time came for her to start the drawing.

“Okay, friends. First up we have...” she drew the first name. “Katherine and... drumroll please?” 

The class drummed their hands over their thighs.

“Chris! Come on down folks, let’s get this marriage on!”

She “married” the first couple, and then continued to draw. You had to admit that you were a little nervous, but still eager to see who you’d get.

Two couples later, she pulled Tom’s name.

You shot him an eyebrow raise to which he returned a discreet middle finger. You rolled your eyes as you prepared a drumroll for Mrs. Flynn.

“And his lucky partner is... y/n!”

“What!” you both exclaimed simultaneously.

Almost the entire class burst into laughter.

“Mrs. Flynn, this has to be a mistake,” you said.

“Yeah, can’t we have a redraw?” Tom asked. 

You hated that he was agreeing with you.

“Nope! You get who you get and you don’t throw a fit! And if it doesn’t work out in a few weeks we can discuss divorce plans.”

“How about annulments,” you stated dryly, earning a chuckle from her.

“That… kinda depends on if you have kids,” she trailed awkwardly before perking back up. “Now come on down! They always say your first marriage is the most memorable!”

“Who has ever said that?” Tom asked.

“You know. They. Now just get up here and do the ring thing!” she commanded.

You both sulked up to the front of the room.

“Okay, now stand here facing each other and hold hands.”

“Do we have to?” Tom whined.

“Yes, now do it and it’ll be over with faster.”

He groaned, rolled his eyes, and grabbed your hands, holding them loosely.

“May I have the rings please!” Mrs. Flynn asked Caroline, the girl whose desk was closest that she’d asked to be designated ring bearer. She handed over the basket to let you both choose from the mix.

You took a silver colored ring with a faux white diamond in the shape of a star. Tom chose one with an oval “ruby.” You couldn’t help but notice how every single person was on edge watching the two of you.

“Okay now Tom, repeat after me. I, Tom Holland, take thee, y/n y/l/n, to be my wedded wife to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part.”

He mumbled through the vow, avoiding eye contact, and slipped your star ring onto your finger. You were surprised at how gentle he was, carefully caressing your hand and making sure the ring faced straight up once it was on your finger.

You, too, said the lines and placed the ring onto his left hand.

“Alright. It is with the power vested in me by this very school that I am proud to now pronounce you husband and wife! You may now air kiss!”

You took a deep sigh and pretended to kiss each other's cheeks. 

“Class, I’d like to introduce you all to Mr. and Mrs. Holland!”

They began to cheer and clap and laugh when you interjected.

“Uh, no. It’s Mr. and Mrs. y/l/n.”

Tom began to argue with you when Mrs. Flynn stopped you both.

“Alright fine, we’ll do a combined name. How’s the y/l/n-Holland family sound?” she asked, writing your names on the fake marriage certificate.

With reluctance, Tom agreed to having your name first and you both signed the paper.

Finally you were able to sit back down where your friends were waiting.

“So what was that about licking the microwave?” Alexis asked.

“Oh shut up.”

%

After your volleyball game (another win!), you and Alexis conversed over cheese fries at your favorite diner.

“Still not ready to talk about today?” she asked. You shook your head.

Alexis had been paired up with Caroline. They were both straight, but you had both been friends with her since freshman year and they got along well.

Today had just been the marriages, and next week you’d be learning more about your family dynamics.

“I’m just so pissed at him. This afternoon in senior art he told all the guys in there that he was going to make it as hard as possible for me. I mean jokes on him, he’s going to want to get an A too, but he was just so smug about it. He also strung his stupid ring on that necklace he’s always wearing. What’s that all about?”

“I mean you’re still wearing your ring. But yeah, that is a little weird.”

“I’m wearing mine because compared to some of the others, the star is actually cute.”

“True. I got unlucky with the selection,” Alexis admitted, digging hers out of her purse to show you a big square blue gem.

“I just wish there was a way to get back at him after all these years. I mean, we’ve been at each other’s throats for almost six years but nothing has ever seemed to really hit hard. This is the last year I’ve got to really make it count.”

Alexis gave you a look, one you knew to be quite mischievous. 

“You know what’s the best way to get revenge on a guy?” Alexis asked.

“Uh, no, but by the look you’re giving me it seems to fall under Carrie Underwood ’before he cheats’ directive.”

“No, dumbass. You make his family fall in love with you.”

It took a second to process what she said before you could give a decent reply.

“You’re kidding right? His family already knows who I am because of all the stuff we’re in together. They probably also know about our rivalry. I mean, he’s told his brothers to never become friends with me.”

“And you know that, how?”

“The libero is Sam’s girlfriend. She’s been spilling tea for me for the past year.”

There was a break in the conversation as the waiter brought your meals out. Once he was gone, you spoke up again.

“Look, do you really think that would work? I mean sure I’d get under his skin, but it doesn’t really constitute revenge, does it?”

“Look at it this way,” Alexis put down her burger so she could splay her hands out in front of her. “If you can get on everyone else's good side, they’ll all talk about how much they love you and he’ll be forced to listen. If he really hates you, it’ll drive him crazy.”

You thought on it for a minute as you chomped on a chicken tender. 

“Alright, I’m in. If it doesn’t end up working, I still have all of next semester to mess with him anyways. Now if I can just figure out how to really get to know his family…”

%

By the time Monday rolled around, you and Alexis had done some more scheming, but your plan wouldn’t even begin to be put in action until your volleyball games Wednesday and Friday, when you’d try to talk to Sam.

You sat down in home ec, where today you’d be picking careers. The catch, however, was that your family unit would have a set income, so each couple had to decide how it would be split up.

“Y/l/n-Holland family, you’ll be making $200k a year,” Mrs. Flynn announced, handing you the slip of paper. “Get together and decide who’s getting what jobs.”

“At least we’ll be rich,” you thought as Tom plopped into the seat next to you unhappily.

“So I’ll be the doctor and you’ll be the trophy wife, right?” he asked immediately.

“Hah, good one. I think we all know that I’m the smarter one here and wayyyy more likely to get into med school than you. And don’t call me trophy wife. I mean, what, you think I’m hot now? Can’t wait to tell everyone that little number.”

His ears turned beet red and he balled a fist.

“I don’t think you’re hot, except maybe hot shit. It’s a figure of speech.” he spat.

“Oh get over yourself. I know I’m hot anyways. Let’s just both pick jobs that earn $100k so we can be equal. How’s that sound?” 

“Fine.”

He played with the plastic ring on his necklace as you looked up jobs on the computer. After a half hour of searching, Tom and you decided that to be fully equal, you’d both take the same job as physician’s assistants.

“Just so you know, I’ll never actually be anyone’s assistant,” he said.

“Oh yeah? Ten years time if you’re lucky I’ll hire you as mine.”

He rolled his eyes. 

“Hey everyone, since class is almost over, we’re gonna wait to draw how many kids you’ll have and other financial things Wednesday. See you then!” Mrs. Flynn called out as students packed their things.

“We have to have kids, too?” Tom asked incredulously.

“Good thing it’s fake. I’d hate to see you as a parent,” you shot smugly, earning another middle finger from him that left you laughing.

%

Wednesday came kids, and thankfully all you got were twin girls, age 9. The project didn’t make you carry around flour babies or anything like that, you just had to account for them in your weekly budgets. 

There goes the annulment plan, though.

Each week, Mrs. Flynn would be drawing something new for you all that would either be good or bad for your budgets, and it was up to you to figure out what to with the funding, or lack thereof. You also had to come up with a story each week that explained why money was put somewhere or what your “family” did that week. 

 She would also be doing progress checks, so you couldn’t wait until the end of the semester to do all the work. By the end, each couple would have to give a presentation over what they did and learned.

“Okay, so we each get to name one. That’s pretty equal,” you stated, thinking up baby names.

“Well I like Elizabeth,” he almost immediately replied, writing it down on one of the “birth certificates” you’d been handed by Mrs. Flynn.

“That’s… surprisingly good. I’ll go with Francesca. What about middle names? I like Rose.”

“Hm. How about Opal? Then they’ll have the same number of letters in their names.”

You were surprised at how much though he put into this, but let it go as you wrote your child’s name down.

“By the way, we need to plan time to get together and write a budget and find a house this weekend. I have a volleyball game Friday so how about Saturday?”

“I have football practice Saturday.”

“Well yeah but only until like 10 right? We could just meet at like 1. We’re doing construction at my house right now so could we do it at yours?” 

You spoke sweetly in an attempt to receive a yes and put your plan into motion. Tom sighed and thought about it.

“I mean I guess. But you’re only going to be there to work on the project and then leave right?”

“Uh, duh. The less time with you the better.”

“Likewise.”

%

Tom and Sam weren’t at the volleyball game Wednesday, so you had to wait until Friday’s.

Friday was muffin day in home ec, so you thankfully didn’t have to talk to Tom. Instead, you and Alexis discussed the plan of getting Tom’s family on your side as you mixed up batter.

Later that afternoon, you watched from afar as Sam and his girlfriend, Julia, sat on the bleachers speaking. It was still an hour until game time and coach had asked you to round up the girls for stretching.

“Hey, Jules!” you called, jogging over to where she was. “Oh, hey Sam!” He looked at you like you were crazy before responding.

“Uh, hey y/n.” He gave a slight head nod.

“Anyways, coach wants us to start warming up. Wanna be my partner today?” 

“Um yeah. Sure. See ya later babe,” she said, giving Sam a quick peck on the cheek before standing up to follow you.

After another win, you were helping take down the net and noticed Julia once again talking to Sam while Tom stood a few feet away looking bored. 

“Hey, could you wrap up the net? I need to do something real quick,” you said to another teammate as you headed over.

“Hey, Jules! Solid digs today! You were making my job way too easy,” you joked.

You could see from the corner of your eye Tom look up at you in annoyance.

“Ahaha thanks girl. But I can’t take all the credit. You were on fire tonight. What was that like 15 aces? And your hits? Incredible,” she replied.

“Yeah, you were amazing tonight,” Sam added. 

“Ohhhkay we can stop the compliment parade on y/n now. We need to go anyways, Sam, mom wants us home,” Tom interjected, putting an arm out in front of his brother, who was rolling his eyes.

“Alright fine. We still on for dinner tomorrow?” Sam asked his girlfriend. She nodded and they exchanged a quick hug and kiss.

“I’ll see you tomorrow too, Tom,” you said. “I’ll bring my laptop.” 

Sam looked at him in confusion.

“Yeah whatever,” was all Tom could say to you as you strutted off to the locker room.

%

You stood nervously on the front porch of Tom’s suburban home. You had texted him when you parked but now dreaded actually going inside. 

After shifting back and forth for a minute, you finally rang the doorbell. 

It was only a few seconds later that the door opened, revealing Sam’s twin Harry. He looked confused.

“Y/n? What are you doing here?” 

“Hey Harry. Tom and I are supposed to be working on a school project today and he said to come over at this time so...” You awkwardly shifted your backpack straps and looked down.

“Tom! Someone’s here to see you!” he yelled out, making you snort.

He appeared shirtless in the doorway and looked at you blankly.

“Oh. It’s just you.”

“Just me? What did you just forget that we have to work on our project today,” you replied, holding up your left hand to point to the plastic ring on it.

“You’re still wearing that? Why?”

“Firstly, the little star is cute. And secondly, you don’t have a lot of room to speak, Tom. Yours is still on your necklace,” you pointed to the chain around his neck, to which he instinctively reached up and grabbed the ring, twisting it between his fingers. 

“Touche. Now come on, let’s just get this over with.” He opened the door wider and let you in, locking it behind you. 

As he led you down a hall covered in photos towards the stairs, his mom stepped out, almost running into her son.

“Oh, sorry.” she looked at you, “Y/n? What are you doing here? It’s nice to see you.”

“Nice to see you too, Mrs. Holland. Tom and I have to work on our home ec project and we couldn’t do it at my house.”

“Oh dear just call me Nikki. And I do remember him mentioning something about a project. Are you the one he’s married to? I never thought I’d see the day.”

Tom tensed up and clenched his jaw while you gave a light chuckle, holding up your left hand again.

“I hate to say it, but yeah. You’ll probably be seeing a lot more of me throughout the semester.”

“Well you kids have fun. And Tom, honey, would it kill you to put on a shirt?”

He went red again and you had to stifle your laughter.

“I was just on my way to do that, mom. Come on y/n,” he mumbled, grabbing your wrist and dragging you up the stairs.

You turned and waved at Nikki one last time as she called up behind him,

“And make sure to keep the door open!”

He was totally embarrassed by that, and made it a point to shut the door behind him once you made it to his room. Finally you could let out a hearty laugh at his expense as he dug through his drawers and pulled out a simple black t-shirt.

“Finally. I was getting tired of looking at your man boobs,” you quipped, looking around the room.

“Ha ha. Good one,” he shot back dryly. 

You were surprised at what his room looked like, though you didn’t know what you’d expected. It was very neat with sleek grey walls. His blue and grey bedding was made up with decorative pillows laid out. On his desk were a few random school papers and a computer, and one shelf held some Spider-Man paraphernalia while another contained medals and ribbons and trophies. 

You dropped your backpack to the ground and pointed up at one figurine.

“Hey, that’s pretty cool,” you said sincerely.

“Yeah, I’m sure you think so,” he replied sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

“Uh, no. I’m serious. It’s actually really dope.” 

He looked taken aback at your compliment, and even to you it felt weird to be saying that out loud about Tom of all people.

“Oh. Well uh. Thanks. Spider-Man was my favorite growing up. But let’s just get to work.”

After an hour of sitting on his carpet searching for a house and arguing over general money allocations,

“Yes Tom, tampons actually cost like $7 for 30 of them and most girls need at least one box a month. And that’s just one factor of personal hygiene. Do you even condition your hair?”

“I’ll have you know my hair is well moisturized. I just don’t ever have to pay for it.”

You finally came to an agreement on the week’s budget. 

Packing up your things, you looked up at Tom who was now sitting on the side of his bed scrolling through social media.

“So next week. Your first game of the season, yeah?” you said, remembering that September was already almost here. 

“Oh yeah. You coming? I’d hate for you to see just how incredible I am.”

“Psh whatever. I saw your throws at preseason. But yeah, I’ll probably just rinse off after my volleyball game and head to the field. Gotta see what cuties they’ve got on the other team.”

“Ugh gross. You know you’ll regret saying that when half the school is swooning over me in the stands.”

“The only thing you’d ever see me swoon from is dehydration. And that’s a pretty weak excuse already.”

You stood and Tom got up to lead you back out.

“Oh, I think I know the way. You don’t have to take me.”

“Yeah I do. Gotta keep my eyes on those grubby little fingers of yours. Who knows what you’d do unsupervised.”

Before you reached the door, Nikki spotted you from the living room.

“Done so soon? Wow, good job guys. Come back any time y/n!”

“Thanks, Nikki,” you called back to her, then turned to Tom. “So same time next week? We can do it at my place if you want.”

“Nah let’s just do it here. I’m always exhausted the day after a game and I don’t really want to get up.”

Okay then

“Well, see ya Monday then. Bye.”

You were halfway down the sidewalk when Tom called out, “Be safe,” before shutting the door. You stopped in your tracks in shock, but eventually got into your car.

What really mattered, though, was that you were already on Nikki’s good side.

1 down, 4 to go.

%

Yay! It’s finished! I really hope you guys enjoy this new series because I’m so excited to share it with you all! Once again, future chapters will have some mature content (s*xual harassment and mentions of assault; underaged alcohol consumption) but those chapters will be explicitly labeled with warnings.

Anyways, thanks for reading and please send an ask or message if you’d like to join my story or permanent tag list!

Tag List: @jackiehollanderr, @one-big-fangirl,

[lovestrucked-again]

Sanguine I Mafia

Genre: Mafia AU Warnings: dark themes Word Count: 3k ANON Ask: Hi I really LOVE your writing and I’d like to request the reader in the nct mafia series gets in some trouble with another company. Serious trouble. But on accident. So the boys have to really work something out to get her back – I’ve taken the idea and done a little series, hope you like it <3 Summary: You were a second year med student taken in by the house of NCT. It’s not uncommon to be the last to learn things within the house but when your safety is threatened, your forced to leave home with no option. But it only makes things worse.

****

Waking up to a loud racket in the morning was nothing new or surprising for you. After moving in, the rarity of having a silent morning was priceless and you could only dream of those days. However, for this Thursday morning, waking up so late in the morning was a disaster, finding out you’re running late to your morning lecture wasn’t what you were expecting. As a second year med student, suggested by yours truly, Qian Kun, you were crushed by the weight of content, leading to late study nights and hectic schedules.

When you were first bought in, you were still a first year student, confused in what course direction to take, what your interests were, and your own capability. As you got comfortable within the house while your first year ended, Kun suggested going into medical school, noticing your attention to detail and caring nature. Lucky for you, your studies were never an issue and getting in proved no difficulty.

Your bedside clock given as a gift from Doyoung (because your always late), showed 8:02am, 28 minutes before it starts. Quickly jumping out of bed you ran to your bathroom, brushing through the knots that had formed in your hair overnight and taking a shower. After getting dressed and grabbing your phone and bag you ran downstairs to grab a snack before leaving. Surprisingly the house seemed strangely quiet for an early morning. A few of the boys slept in during the mornings, somehow managing to sleep though the heavy noise, but majority would be up and about by now.

You sneaked a peak into the living room while grabbing an apple from the fridge, seeing the absence of people. You grabbed your usual set of keys from the row of hooks at the entrance to the garage, noticing most of the car keys were missing but too late to think deeply into it. You ran over to your favourite car within the garage and threw your backpack onto the passenger seat beside you before starting the engine and driving as fast as you could to your class.

Arriving 5minutes after the lecture started, you sneak in through the back door hoping no one would notice you. Obviously with your luck, the class happened to be completely silent when you entered and the sound of the door creaking open caught everyone’s attention. You mumbled a small apology to the lecturer who didn’t bother to acknowledge your presence and continued with his talk. You settle into your seat and pull out your laptop and begin typing away as he talks.

Almost halfway through your lecture your phone buzzes. You ignore the initial vibration felt from the phone on your desk, too immersed in typing as your lecturer continues talking without bothering to slow down. However, as soon as the continuous texts popped through, the students around you were starting to give you looks and you had no choice but to answer to your phone. You glance at the screen noticing the texts from Jaehyun.

Jaehyun: Where are you?

Jaehyun: Y/N?

Jaehyun: Y/N? Answer me.

Y/N: In a lecture, something up?

You see the three little dots typing through the screen for a minute, then disappearing, and then reappearing.

Jaehyun: No, have fun and stay safe.

Not bothering with it too much, you placed your phone in your bag this time, and tried to catch up to what the lecturer was explaining. When the digital clock above the board showed 10am, the lecturer began piling up his paperwork, and dismissed the class.

Normally you’d find the Dream group who would be roaming around the campus around the same time as you had your lunch break. The 2000s line were first year students due to their part time commitment as students. They balanced life at home with training and missions while also completing a normal life – forced upon by Taeyong. You made your way over to the tables under the shaded trees and pulled out your phone to pass time. It was almost 10:30 when you realised there was still no one here.

You pull up the group chat you had for the bunch of you who attended college; Renjun, Haechan, Jeno, Jaemin and you.

Y/N: Did you guys all ditch today?

Haechan: We got held back at home

Y/N: You’re at home?

Haechan: Yeah

Y/N: It was so quiet this morning though, I thought no one was home.

Haechan: Big meeting today

Y/N: Guess I’m spending lunch alone

Jaemin: Go make some new friends

Jaemin: Girl-friends only

Y/N: :(

You hum to yourself, putting in your earphones and grabbing your drawing pad along with a pen. The time passes rather quickly as you sketch out the trees in your view, the figures of people passing by, the group of friends gathered on the lawn. The music abruptly stops and you look at your phone, confused at the interruption. You notice the call coming through and pull out your earphones to place the phone against your ear.

“Hello?”

“Hey can you come to the car?”

“My car?” You ask, confused.

“Yeah, I’m at your car.”

“Okay, give me a few minutes.” You tell him, hanging up to gather all your belongings.

You notice the familiar car parked next to your own car and your face crinkles up confused at the unannounced visit from Lucas coming to your campus. Lucas stands leaning against the bumper of his car, staring at his phone not seeing you approach him.

“Hey what are you doing here?” You ask,

“I’m picking you up.” He simply states, putting his phone in his pocket and taking your laptop and textbooks from your grasp.

“I drove though.” You tell him.

“I know, one of the guys will get your car,” he says, motioning to the passenger side of his car for you to get in as he places your stuff in the back seat and opens the door on the driver’s side for himself.

“What’s going on?” You ask, closing the door before your fighting with your seatbelt strap to pull over your shoulder.

“We’re going on a vacation.” Lucas replies, leaning over to help you with your seatbelt. You lean back against your seat as he fumbles with it for a second and then buckles you in.

“Thanks, and I don’t know if you’ve realised but I still have lectures to attend tomorrow.” You tell him.

“Jaehyun handled them already.” He tells you.

“What do you mean?” You ask, starting to get concerned with the sudden situation. “Lucas what’s going on?” you ask again.

“Call Jaehyun, it’s better he tells you,” Lucas says, letting out a sigh as he pushes the gear stick into drive. You pull out your phone and dial his number, being sent straight into voicemail. You try again while Lucas watches, waiting for a response as well.

“He isn’t answering.”

“Try Taeyong.” He tells you. You click onto your speed dial for 1, calling Taeyong immediately. The phone rings for a few seconds and as your about to give up, he answers.

“Hello?”

“Hey princess what’s up?”

“Jaehyun didn’t pick up his phone and what’s with this sudden vacation? I still have classes to attend.”

“I’ve put your application on defer for now.”

“You did what?!” You yell into the phone. Lucas flinches from your sudden raise in voice.

“Sorry I should’ve talked about this with you.” You hear Taeyong sigh through the other end.

“Yeah, obviously. I’m not going on vacation or whatever this crap is Tae, I’m going back to class tomorrow.”

“Y/N things aren’t going very well recently and I need you to get away from everyone so your safe.”

“I don’t care about that, since when did you have a say in my education and what I do?!” You yell, “I’ll move in with a friend if I have to but I’m not leaving.”

“Sorry Y/N but I can’t let you do that, please just go with Lucas for now okay? I’m busy at the moment so I’ll call you back later.” He states, hanging up before anyone has a chance to say more.

Little did you know, the meeting that occurred earlier in the day was to discuss the current situation with enemy plans and events that have recently been going on. The members had been taking turns following you secretly to classes or trying to accompany you wherever you went without you realising it. Taeyong had been receiving threats lately regarding the entire NCT and the safety of the members. When someone sent an anonymous email to him containing images taken of you doing your daily activities outside of the house he decided it was time to separate you from the group.

Much to many of the members disliking of being separated and out of site, you were in danger to be living with them in this current situation. You leaving the city was planned last minute today and was agreed upon by majority in the meeting. Doyoung and Lucas had packed all your essentials within a few minutes before Lucas left to pick you up, leading you to where you were now. Your safety had been left in the hands of Lucas, unfortunately. Not saying that you were on bad terms with Lucas but more of his reliability seemed to be questionable.

Lucas on the other hand was even more miserable than you. The problem of babysitting you while being separated from all the action back home and being stuck inside a hotel would kill him of boredom.

The car ride was mostly silent, Lucas trying to change through the music playing and then being interrupted by phone calls coming through. He connected them to his in ear Bluetooth, trying to avoid you from hearing about the business projects he was dealing with. You rotated between sleeping and scrolling through social media for the car ride. Eventually as night falls, he pulls into a hotel within a small town. The two of you get out the car and he goes in ahead of you, tossing the keys to you while he susses it out.

The front desk lady had placed a pair of keys on the counter bench when you walked in the front door. You could see Lucas was running a hand through his hair – a habit he did when he was frustrated - when you approach him.

“What happened? Did you place a reservation?” You ask Lucas as he dials Jaehyun.

“The guys did, Jaehyun gave me the address for this place.”

“What’s the problem then?” You question, confused.

“Why did you book only one room and there’s only one bed?” Lucas complains into the phone. As soon as Lucas mentions one room you go blank. Sharing a bed wasn’t an issue for either of you, considering you’d had frequent movie nights with him which you ended up sleeping there instead of returning to your room. The problem is his sleeping habits. They want me to share a room with this loudass? How am I meant to sleep through his snoring? Your head was running through a billion problems and you were bought back into reality just as Lucas was about to hang up.

“Jaehyun what is this?” You ask, motioning for the phone from Lucas.

“Hey baby how are you?”

“Great. A little frustrated but you know, nothing new.” You tell him sarcastically.

“Yeah I know, sorry everything was too sudden for you.”

You sigh into the phone, knowing that you shouldn’t be taking your feelings out on him, “Yeah.”

“It’ll be over soon,” He says, comforting you through the phone.

“Okay,” you mumble, “Lucas and I are checking in now, be careful okay?”

“Yeah you too.” He replies, just as you end the call and hand the phone back to Lucas.

Lucas takes the keys on the counter and the two of you head back to the car to bring your belongings up. The room was simple. A large king sized bed and a TV in its direct line of sight. The bathroom connected near the entrance in a separate area and a little study desk and lamp. A little couch at the far end near the curtains covering the sight of a balcony.

“I’m going to shower first.” You tell him, searching for your pyjamas.

“Don’t be so slow, I’m tired.” He complains.

“Says the boy who spends 20minutes in there.” You shoot him a glare and he smiles at you blinking his eyes with innocence. “Also who packed my suitcase, where’s my pjs?”

“Doyoung and I did, don’t know if we packed pjs though..” he trails off. He pushes himself up from the couch and flips through his bag. He pulls out a plain white shirt and throws it across the room to you, “Wear this.”

“Is it clean?” You ask, holding it with the tips of your fingers. His hygiene routine isn’t classified as one of the best within the group and you feared he had given you a sweaty one.

“Obviously.” You give him a suspicious look and gather your night time things, heading into the bathroom. You strip down and step slowly into the tub, turning the water on high and letting it beat over your head as the steam begins to fog up the mirror. Closing your eyes, the heat of the water soaks into your skin and you lean against the cool tiles, exhausted at the day of events.

After you’ve washed shampoo and conditioner through your hair, you turn the tap off, squeezing out the water with your hands into the tub before stepping out. The towel hangs from the door hook and your easily able to grab it without getting the floor wet. You quickly dry yourself off and chuck on a bra, undies and Lucas’ white shirt. You wrap the towel around your hair as you step out and the temperature difference of the rooms immediately causes you to shiver.

“You can go now.” You tell Lucas, jumping straight under the covers of the bed. He hums in response, throwing you the TV remote while he disappears. You lean up against the bed board and flick through the channels, finally deciding to just turn it off instead when nothing seems interesting just as your phone beeps.

Johnny: Hey Princess are you still awake?

Y/N: Yeah, how is everyone?

Johnny: Everyone’s okay, there’s a training session going on at the moment so they’re all a bit busy

Y/N: Ahh okay.

Your debating whether you should ask about Taeyong, regretting yelling at him earlier and knowing he was only trying to keep you safe.

Y/N: Is Taeyong mad at me?

Johnny: He’s not mad, just a little stressed is all.

Johnny: Don’t worry about it.

Y/N: Okay

Johnny: Go to sleep now, it’s getting late, you and Lucas still have to keep driving tomorrow.

Y/N: I will, goodnight.

Johnny: Night <3.

Just as you shut your bedside light, Lucas walks out the bathroom shirtless, ruffling his hair with the towel and eyes glued to his phone.

“You’re not sleeping on the couch?” He asks, glancing over at you.

“Me?” You question.

“Well I’m too tall to fit and besides, I’ve been driving all day and I’ll be driving all day tomorrow.” He states, pulling the sheets down on the other side.

“Do you know how many bedbugs are on that couch?” You ask before answering it yourself, “too many.”

“Just don’t kick me throughout the night like last time.” He warns you, flipping over to his side.

“Wow you’re so terrifying.” You mumble, crawling more towards your side of the bed. “Don’t snore like your Santa Claus okay?” You remind him.

Lucas obviously ignored your warning as he snores throughout the night. You let out a groan as you sit up and push him over, tossing him more towards his side of the bed. He stops snoring momentarily and then it starts again after a few minutes of peaceful silence. Are you kidding me. You do your best to just ignore him and fold the pillow against your ear, making the sound as quiet as possible. Your phone rings just as you feel like you’re finally falling into sleep and you cry in frustration, rolling over to reach it and pick up, not looking at the caller ID.

“Hey baby, how have you been?” The deeper voice asks.

“Sorry, do I know you?” You mumble, still asleep in your state.

“Ouch, that hurts, how could you say that to your lover.”

You open your eyes, squinting at the light of the unknown number on your phone screen. “Sorry I think you’ve got the wrong number.”

“Do I really? I swear this was the number for Miss Y/N, the beautiful lady who happens to be living with one of the desired Mafia gangs.” You stayed silent through the phone, immediately sitting up, obviously this guy knew who you were and your relation to the boys. You glance at Lucas whose still asleep and your feet search for your slippers. Quietly you tip toe out to the hallway, leaving a gap in the door behind you. “If I’ve still got the wrong number feel free to hang up, I’ll continue chatting with the so notorious leader who happens to be knocked unconscious.”

“WAIT!” You whisper into the phone,

“Hm?”

“Wh-what do you want?” You hesitatingly ask.

“That’s what I thought.” He laughs. “Now I know you aren’t alone baby, so is anyone listening to us?”

“No.”

“Good girl.” He hums before continuing “I want you to come home.”

“What?”

“Come home, alone.” He says, “and remember to keep this a secret, or it might be bad for the present I have for you. I’ll be waiting.”

[partly-cloudyskies]

1, 12, 16, 18 + one I didnt pick but you secretly want to talk about

This has run long so I’m putting it under a break. Some thought about my current writing projects, an old abandoned project and, uh, word counts below!

1) Welp I got three WIPs:

This is How We Grow: My first real attempt to fully commit to the heightened romance and emotion of an idealized pastoral setting but sometimes there are shadow monsters plus this also acts as an excuse to see more of Soup’s weblena art.

The Longest Shadows: A future fic where Lena becomes a badass shadow witch and Webby learns that the McDuck legacy is a complicated thing rather than the unalloyed good that she unthinkingly embraced as a youth (Yeah how you doin season 3).

The Glass Factory: A Maebea NITW AU where Mae and Bea find and cling to each other out of a shared sense of alienation as they bear witness to an economically depressed city in its final moments before the shockwave of gentrification turns it into something unrecognizable and hostile (YES I’m still working on it!!)

12) A dumb line from an old WIP... there are so many abandoned projects that are like, two chapters and then a separate file full of quotes that I thought were cool and then I never looked back on them again. I’m sure those hold up. Let me check my old writings folder...

OH NO. I have it and I hate it but I’m going to post it anyway:

Detta rises over the Blackfuse mercenary as he struggled with the debris crushing him. Short even for a goblin, she looms over him like a Titan contemplating the fleeting life of mortals. She raises one hand, closed in a fist that sparks and howls with the wind.

“I’m gonna put a hurricane in your skull. See what it does to your brain.”

FOR CONTEXT, this is an old WIP from, like, 2016. It was a World of Warcraft fic that I REALLY wanted to write. It took place during the Panderia campaign and was set entirely in Bilgewater Harbor, an island city of goblins that is almost entirely empty in-game but I always liked its chaotic design. It was about Detta, a goblin Shaman who had given up adventuring and became a freelance problem solver in Bilgewater. She had a Storm Elemental she named Dizzy who she used as a secretary. One day Korkron troopers loyal to Hellscream bursts into her office and tells her they want to hire her to track down a criminal. Tozz, one of the troopers, is assigned to stay with her to make sure she stays on task. Eventually they would find the criminal only to learn he’s a Twilight’s Hammer cultist who had been in Orgrimmar instructing Hellscream’s forces on the secrets of Dark Shamanism and Hellscream was hiding this by killing everyone involved. You can take it from me that it was VERY lore compliant while filling in the spaces that the game devs had left CRIMINALLY underdeveloped and was going to be a dramatic story in the vein of film noir, with intrigue and divided loyalties and shifting motivations all on the eve of war and rebellion and WoW DESERVED to have better story than it did and you know what I’ve decided that is actually a brilliant line and I am PROUD of it and --

You get the picture. Next question!

16) Hm... this is a question that I don’t really have an answer for because all worldbuilding is good worldbuilding if you ask me. I think the thing about worldbuilding is that a good 90% of it doesn’t make it to the page and we kind of struggle with that because if you have all this research material then you might feel compelled to splash it all out on the page so you’d have something to show for all the time you spent. But that’s not what it’s for, it’s so that you have something to refer to when you need it. It’s the big part of the iceberg no one else gets to see. So maps? Spreadsheets? Research? None of it is ridiculous. All of it is good.

I guess the most of it I’ve ever done was for the novel that I wrote. I had a lot of material for that. I drew a map and I even tried to keep it to scale by sketching it out using travel route lines in Google Maps. I guess that is a little ridiculous, but I’ve no regrets.

18) I hate title and I don’t really spend much time on them. I certainly don’t keep track of how many titles I come up with before settling on one. I tend to be direct, I think.

Glass Factory is called Glass Factory because there’s a glass factory in NITW and my story takes place in an art studio. There’s an art studio in Alexandria called the Torpedo Factory, and that and its surroundings is what inspired that story, so Glass Factory. ez.

Longest Shadows is about legacy, the shadows cast by Scrooge and Magica and how Webby and Lena fall under those shadows. Plus it’s Lena so there’s almost a 100% chance any story with her has some kind of shadow reference in the title. So that’s that.

This is How We Grow was probably the most agonizing of my recent WIPs in terms of title. I think it’s a little clunky. But it’s about the two main characters growing and it’s... there’s farming. Plants grow. So... uh, that’s it. I might not be a huge fan of the title but I’ve never considered changing it. Never look back, when it comes to titles. That’s my motto.

Now for a question of my choosing...

14) I can knock out 500 words pretty easily on a good day, like on a real good day I can do a 1000 in half an hour. I’ve had times where I got an idea in the morning, wrote 2000 words about it, edited it by lunch and posted it by evening. But good days are few and far between and mostly I just put in a paragraph or two where I can.

I used to be very obsessive about word count. Like, I still look at it today but now it’s just like “oh, that’s how many words are in this file, okay”, but years ago I practically lived by it. I think part of it was me chasing that NaNoWriMo dragon, which was something I used to be pretty focused on. Now that I’m older I wonder if NaNoWriMo actually helps or does more to hurt aspiring writers. I mean, it’s not like there’s any external consequences to falling short but when you’re young and you’re looking to commit yourself to something, it sucks real hard when you inevitably fall short and it can be discouraging.

These days I’m more in a “what’s important is that you’ve written something” frame of mind. It doesn’t matter if it’s four pages or it’s literally a single word. I’ve had single word days. And it’s okay! It’s okay to write a single word. Progress is progress, when it comes to writing. Now, if I look at the word count, it’s because a chapter I’m in is running longer than I would have liked and maybe I should consider splitting it in two or something because I am the kind of person who likes the idea of a uniform amount of words per paragraph thank you very much. Beyond that, I don’t pay word count much mind and I think I’m a happier writer for it.

So yeah!

[softyn]

Popular guys don’t love nerds | Hwang Hyunjin

REQUESTED BY @enchanting-exo :  Well, if your requests are still open, can I request a Hyunjin fluff, where he is the popular boy at school and you are just a nerd?? I bet you would be hella excited writing about your ultimate bias!! 💕💕

Words: 2K im afraid lmao i wrote exactly 2000 words

Genre: Soulmate! Au + Slightly Angst + Fluff.

Warnings: None.

-Mai.

-

Soulmates were complicated.

It’s not like you despised the idea of soulmates but being destined to someone since the day you were born made you feel like you were tied to fate, where you could not make your own decisions.

You looked at your soulmate mark, a little black triangle in your forearm, it indicated you that your soulmate would have the same triangle in the same body part, but his or her triangle had to be only the outline, complementing your black triangle, just like the yin yang.

“There is no problem, right y/n?” Your biology teacher asked you.

You blinked several times, getting back to reality.

“Shit, what did he ask?” You asked to yourself.

“Uhm... No, of course not.” You said and you started to hear some whispers

“Perfect, stay after classes so we can talk about it.” He said and you nodded a little bit confused.

Once the bell rang, you picked up all your things and went to the teacher’s desk.

You were about to ask the teacher what he wanted to talk about when someone caught your eye.

Hwang Hyunjin, the most popular boy at your school and also, your classmate, was approaching to you with a sweet smile.

“First of all, thank you for agreeing on helping Hyunjin out with his exams y/n, it’s very kind of you.” Your teacher said.

Oh no

“Anyway, y/n, like I said before, since you are my most brilliant student, you will be tutoring Hyunjin until the finals and this, of course, will benefit you too, if you get Hyunjin to pass his finals, you will not only get one more point in your final grades, but you will also receive a recommendation letter from me.” He said.

Well, you may be tutoring the most popular boy and probably a fuckboy too of your school, but at least, you will get a recommendation letter so it wasn’t that bad.

You nodded and bowed to the teacher, who left the classroom leaving you and Hyunjin alone.

“So uhm... Where do you want to study? We can go to the library or something.” You asked.

“We can study at my place, my parents barely are at home and I don’t have siblings... If it’s okay for you.” He said.

“Yeah, sure.” You said even if you weren’t that sure.

-

In less than a month, you two had grown quite close to each other and it surprised you since you have never been too bond of popular guys.

But Hyunjin was different, and there were no doubt why everybody loved him, besides that he was one of the most attractive people you had ever seen, he was a really sweet and charming guy, the one who radiated the most positive, warmth and friendliness vibes and he had a special love for his dog, Kkami.

He was the type of guy everybody wanted to befriend and he was nothing like the egocentric and rude guy you thought he was. 

Now, every time he saw you at school he greeted you and there were times where he even asked you about the lesson before it starts. And of course, nobody went unnoticed by this behavior, and much less, by the popular girls who were always around Hyunjin.

You rang the bell of Hyunjin’s house and waited for him to open.

Not so long after, you started to hear Kkami barking and a person running inside the house. Then, the front door opened and a young and pretty woman appeared in your vision.

“Y/n welcome! I’m Mrs. Hwang, Hyunjin’s mom, but you can call me Yeonmi darling!” She said cheerfully and she hugged you.

You blinked several times, not expecting this type of welcoming.

“Mom...” Hyunjin, who were behind his mother, muttered.

She let you go but she placed her hands on your shoulders.

“I’m sorry darling, but when Hyunjinnie told me that he was bringing a girl over I couldn’t help but get excited! He has never brought a girl at home!” She said with a big smile.

“Okay mom, this is enough, we have to study.” He said, grabbing your wrist and dragging you to his room.

You looked around the room, examining all his belongings.

You have never seen his room since you always studied in his living room since his parents were always at work.

“Sorry about my mom, she wanted to spend some time with me so she took some free days from work.” He explained.

“Don’t worry, she seems to be really nice and... sincere.” You chuckled.

He laughed nervously and he sat on the bed.

You did the same and put all your notes and books between the both of you.

“Okay, let’s start.”

Hyunjin took notes about what you wrote in classes the other day.

The room was quiet and you couldn’t help but observe him while he was writing.

You looked his facial expression, he seemed to be concentrated, with his brown hair almost touching his eyes and making slight grimaces with his nose.

Suddenly, you started to think about what his mother said, you blushed slightly and the thought of you being the first girl who entered into his house.

A knock on the door made you come back to reality, Hyunjin’s mother came in with a plate full of cookies and a smile.

“Hi guys, I thought that you may be hungry, so I made some cookies.” She said and she left the plate in the table.

“Mo-”

You shushed Hyunjin and thanked Mrs. Hwang with a smile.

You tried one of the cookies and you couldn’t help compliment her cooking skills.

“Thank you so much darling... There’s no doubt why Hyunjinnie doesn’t stop talking about you.” She said and you choked with the cookie.

“MOM” A really blushed Hyunjin shouted, while you coughed.

“Sorry.” She muttered with a grin and left the room.

You drank from a bottle of water you had in your bag and once you finally felt your throat being free, you looked at Hyunjin.

His cheeks gained a deep red tone and he was laughing nervously.

“I... uh... I’m sorry hehe, my mother can be a little... Isn’t it like... too hot suddenly?” He asked, fanning himself.

He took off his hoodie, wearing now a white short-sleeved shirt.

And you saw it, the little black mark in his forearm. A little outline of a triangle that was resting in his arm and complemented yours.

You suddenly started to get nervous, you felt something strange in your stomach and you felt how your face started to grew redder.

“So-sorry Hyunjin, I have to go.” You said, picking up all your things.

“Wh-what?” He asked, his eyes and mouth slightly open.

“I forgot I have to take care of my cousin, s-see you tomorrow.” You lied and left his bedroom.

You were going down stairs when Hyunjin’s mother talked.

“Are you leaving already?” She asked in a sad tone.

“Yes, sorry Mrs Hwang, I have to take care of my cousin, thank you so much for the cookies.” You said and with that, you left the house.

-

“Y/n are you good?” Your best friend asked.

You looked at your untouched food and nodded. “Yeah, I’m good I just... need to use the bathroom.” You said.

You were still a little bit shocked about Hyunjin being your soulmate.

You were so perfect and you were so... you.

And even if you knew you were being a selfish coward for not telling Hyunjin, you couldn’t help it, what should you say?

You looked yourself in the mirror, fixed your hair and clothes and sighed.

Soulmates were complicated.

Just when you were about to leave the bathroom, you collided against someone.

“Y/N! How good to see you, I wanted to talk to you actually.” With a fake smile, Jaeun, the most popular girl at school and the same girl who wouldn’t leave Hyunjin’s side said, pushing you inside the bathroom again.

You were going to talk but she interrupted you.

“Look, I don’t know who do you think you are but stay away from Hyunjin, do you hear me?” She asked, approaching menacingly to you. “I don’t know what happened or what did you say but stop hanging out with him, you are not enough for him, he will never love you the way you wish.” She said and your back hit the wall.

“And you know why?” She asked, getting closer to you,until her mouth were close enough to your ear to hear her words. “Because popular guys don’t love nerds.” She whispered and with that, she left the bathroom.

You looked at her figure leaving the bathroom, maybe, she was right.

-

Hyunjin🐶: Hey y/n

Hyunjin🐶: You’ve been kind of ignoring me today...

Hyunjin🐶:  Look if this is because of what my mom said yesterday please just ignore her, I didn’t want to make things weird between us.

Hyunjin🐶: Sorry

You reread his messages, feeling a little bit bad.

It wasn’t your intention to make him feel like this, but just finding out he was your soulmate and what Jaeun said scared you.

What if she was right? What if he doesn’t want to be your soulmate? You were just a nerd who barely talked and he was a social butterfly who everybody loved, you were like the oil and the water, the winter and the summer, the dog and the cat.

You decided not to answer him, you didn’t want to keep lying to him.

-

You moved uncomfortably on Hyunjin’s bed.

Of course, you didn’t stop tutoring him, you both needed it, but since the day you saw his soulmate mark, things have been a little bit awkward between the both of you.

“Y/n?” He asked.

“Y-yes?”

“Can I ask you something?” He asked, getting up from his spot and sitting next to you.

You looked carefully all his movements, he was now really close to you, your face was really close to his and the thought of him kissing you made you blush.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked at the same time he grabbed your wrist and lifted up the sleeve of your hoodie.

Your mouth opened in agape, you didn’t know what to do or say.

He knew you were his soulmate and he knew you knew.

“I... H-how did you know?”

“I found out the same day you ran out of my house after I took off my hoodie, I couldn’t stop thinking why you ran out of the blue and then I remembered the day you told me your soulmate mark was a tattoo you had in your left arm and I put two and two together.” He explained.

“I’m so sorry.” You only could say.

“Don’t be silly! But my only question is why you ran out... aren’t you happy to be my soulmate?” He asked.

“No, no! Of course it’s not that! It’s just that.... You are Hwang Hyunjin, the popular guy everybody likes and I am... Y/n, the nerd of the class who doesn’t barely know anyone.” You said in a low tone.

“And?” He asked.

“Popular guys don’t love nerds, that only occurs on Wattpad.” You said.

Hyunjin sighed and rolled his eyes. “Did Jaeun really told you that? Ugh, I swear to God, she is too desperate.” He said and you chuckled. “Listen I don’t mind if you are a nerd or the most popular girl at school, you can even be the queen of England and that won’t change my love for you.” He said and you smiled softly.

“I even started liking you before I knew you were my soulmate and when I found out I almost cry.” He joked, making you laugh.

You hugged him, placing your arms around his neck, caressing his hair, while he hugged you placing his arms around your waist.

“I’m glad you are my soulmate.” You said at the same time.

// Masterlist //

[punkpoemprose]

December 10th- Closer

Universe: Modern AU/ Garage Band AU Rating: T (Teen and Up!) Length: 2000 words

Fluffy modern AU cuteness because I’m pretty sure this is all I ever write, lol.

I told you last night you gave me butterflies You surprise me with new cocoons every time they start to fly I instantly felt like an idiot Embarrassed of the person controlling my mouth My mouth it's always in a melee Figuring out how as it talks Your response was comforting I guess I gave you butterflies too

-Lemuria (Pants)

Anna dropped her hands to her sides and tried not to make eye contact with the tall man in front of her. She was already embarrassed, and she knew that looking at him would only make things worse.

She knew that she shouldn’t have drank as much as she did the night before. She didn’t even like beer, but that’s what the rest of the band had been drinking, and she didn’t want to offend anyone by not involving herself. She was already the youngest in the group, the least accomplished, and she hardly needed another reason to stick out. She was only with them because of a fluke anyway.

She felt his hands connect with her shoulders. It was a gently restricting gesture. He wasn’t grabbing her roughly, just holding her by him in the lowest contact method available to him. Anna still couldn’t bring herself to look up, but when he spoke she had no excuse to avoid responding.

“You feeling alright there feisty-pants? You were really pounding them back last night.”

Anna hoped that he couldn’t see how red her cheeks were, her face partially obscured by red hair she had decided to leave down from lack of energy. She wasn’t feeling alright, and it wasn’t just because of the drinks.

“Hey,” he said as his hands slid from her shoulders to the bare skin below the sleeve of her t-shirt, “you know if you’re not feeling up to it we don’t have to practice today. I can tell the guys to pack it up, we can do this another time.”

She could feel the roughness of the callouses on her skin. She was hypersensitive to his touches. She only blushed harder when she thought about it, about how long it had been since she had been touched by a man.

“I’m fine,” she said, moving slightly to shrug off his touch, but not putting in enough effort to truly move him. She didn’t want him to stop touching her. She didn’t want him to stop worrying about her, but she desperately wanted to forget the night before, and his presence wasn’t helping that.

She’d had enough to drink to loosen her inhibitions, to make her too talkative, to make her tell the man before her, the band’s guitarist, that she thought that she was falling in love with him and that all the songs she’d written lately had been for him. Every chorus and every verse about the filthy things she thought about doing to him, every single sweet line about falling in love at first sight, and the general weirdness that made for a good song but for an awkward conversation. She’d said it all to him, and he’d just smiled at her, and now the way he was talking to her was as if none of it had happened, and yet she was certain they were both acutely aware that it had. It was maddening.

“No,” he said softly, low enough that the men in the next room over wouldn’t hear, “No you’re not Anna. So, tell me what’s going on.”

She shook her head and finally looked up at him. She let out a soft sigh when she looked at him. Three years her elder he was the most frustratingly perfect mixture of masculinity and softness that she’d ever seen. When they weren’t playing, a hobby for all of them, he was working at the docks, and she could only presume that that was where the muscularity of his arms and chest had come from. She swallowed hard, trying to send the thought far away as she saw the concern written across his features. The way his brown eyes saw her and through her at the same time was mystifying to say the least, and the worry in them sent a shiver down her spine.

She couldn’t help but to wonder, if maybe, his concern for her was more than that of a worried bandmate.  It seemed silly to think about, but sometimes she thought that maybe, despite being a man of few words, the things he was trying to say with his criticisms of lyrics or with his insistence of adjusting mic heights for her, was that he was interested. After the simple smile he had given her the night before, even with everything she’d admitted, it seemed more unlikely than not.

“I don’t want to talk about this. Not here. Not now,” she whispered in response, hoping that it would be enough to avoid the conversation.

A different hope was answered, however, because after she had spoken, he moved his hands again, this time one catching in hers to direct her to another space. Evidently, he had taken not now to mean that very second from which a few moments afterward would be excluded, and that not here meant that a couple rooms away would be perfectly fine.

She didn’t fight his pull, however, when he brought her into a room that was almost certainly his bedroom.

Band practice locations changed on a revolving basis. Kristoff’s house, a local club, Anna’s basement, one of the guy’s camps, and then sometimes in the practice rooms of the local college that Anna was about to graduate from. She didn’t know why she had even bothered to come to practice, she had a feeling that something like this would happen. A traitorous voice in the back of her head teased that it was precisely the reason why she had shown up in the first place.

She looked around her as he closed the door behind them. His room was small, dimly lit by the sunset outside his window, but clean. She knew that she should be afraid of being stuck in a man’s room alone with him between her and the door, but there was something about Kristoff, the concerned look he was still giving her in the dim light of the room, the way he always leaned down for her so that their height difference wouldn’t seem quite so scary, she knew that he could never hurt her. He was too kind.

“Are we going to talk about this?” He asked, his voice low.

Anna blushed, trying desperately to reign in control of her mouth when she knew that if she opened it, a torrent of words would fall out. Words about how even though she had only met him recently she felt like she had known him her entire life. Words about how whenever she was near him all she wanted to do was tangle her fingers into his hair and kiss him long and hard. Words that she knew that she shouldn’t say but had the night before and so desperately wanted to utter again.

“Anna,” he said, before crossing the space between them and wrapping his arms around her gently, “If you don’t feel the way you told me you did last night, you need to tell me now, okay?”

Anna blinked up at him. He was holding her loosely, looking down at her face and saying that he remembered what she had said. Her cheeks went red, and she couldn’t help but to stutter as she started, “ I… I thought that y-you wouldn’t remember? I’m so sorry, I don’t normally drink, and I’m kind of a lightweight so I guess my filter just sort of went out the window and I feel like such an idiot because sometimes I can’t control what I’m saying, but I mean if you can still respect me after all of that I just want to say sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to cause you any worry, and I don’t even know what I’m saying right now, but I’m sorry.”

He sighed, pulling her in closer. “Of course I respect you… Anna, I–!” he paused as if he thought better about what he were just about to say, and then continued, “Don’t be sorry, okay? I’m glad you said what you did, I just need to know if you meant it, because if not then I’m about to make a huge idiot of myself.”

“How would you…” and then Anna understood. The look of concern on his face was for both of them. He was afraid, and she knew why he was. It was the same reason why she had avoided his gaze when she walked in. It was why he was putting his hands on her so kindly, why he had pulled her closer to him.

She took a deep breath, ready to take a chance, and smiled at him, “Of course I meant it.”

And with those words she tiptoed up and pressed a kiss to his cheek. If this was the hill she was going to die on, she decided, at least she had done all she could. It was more of a peck than a kiss, but it made them both blush and it sent waves of adrenaline through her system. Her stomach was all butterflies.

Kristoff looked at her dumbly for a moment, as if he couldn’t believe what had just happened, and then he leaned down and quickly pressed his lips to hers. The kiss was not as chaste as hers had been, and Anna couldn’t help the soft sigh that left her as her hands moved from her sides to his hair.

He was kissing her like his life depended on it, guiding her to his bed, slowly, so that he could pull her up and into his arms, closer as they kissed. He was fairly new at this sort of thing, and he hadn’t imagined, months back meeting Anna, that this was where they would end up.

She was just a college student looking for a way to spend her weekends, and singing was always something she had loved to do. She took poetry classes and wrote lyrics, and she had been everything that the band had been looking for since their last singer moved away. It wasn’t like they were a big deal or anything, just a group of guys who liked to get together and have a few beers and play. Anna, hadn’t changed that, but she had changed how willing Kristoff was to put extra practice in. He would gladly play for hours if it meant spending more time with her.

When they pulled apart, Kristoff realized, laying with her on his bed, how presumptuous it had been to bring her to his room. Not that it really had had anything to do with presumption on his part, rather he had just meant to get them some privacy. From the way that Anna was blushing, he hoped that he hadn’t gone too far.

“I’ve been dying to do that for months,” she said with ruddy cheeks, as she looked at him, “I… I just can’t believe…”

He chuckled, “I’ve been thinking about that since I met you freckles.”

She playfully hit his arm, hate-loving the nickname, but she jumped when they heard a knock on the door.

“You two in there?”

They both blushed, looking back at each other, before Kristoff put a finger to his lips and walked alone towards the door.

He walked out, closing it behind him, and Anna smiled when she heard him speak to their bandmate.

“Anna wasn’t feeling great, so I offered to let her crash for a few hours. Tell the guys we’ll practice tomorrow, I’m sure she’ll feel better by then, and really, I’m not feeling great today either.”

It only took about ten minutes for her to hear the sound of cars leaving his driveway, and for him to return.

The rest of the evening was spent on his couch, talking, watching crappy B-movies and of course, kissing each other until they forgot about everything else.

[monabela]

after I had picked songs and thought of stories for them, I noticed that everything with Ukraine had turned out to be rather sad. but I think this one didn't turn out as sad as it could've been even though it's set during WWI. it isn’t a very romantic story but Listen there is only so much I can put in 2000 words okay. I’m not good at writing short things :’D

what it seems

part II of the femslash Sonata Arctica AUs

Nothing's what it seems to be I'm a replica, I'm a replica An empty shell inside of me I'm a replica of me

- Replica

characters/pairings: Hungary (Erzsébet)/Ukraine (Iryna), mentioned past Austria/Hungary

word count: 2422 summary: Erzsébet is just trying to keep herself together, but Iryna teaches her that maybe she doesn't have to. Maybe it's okay to be sad.

There is so much to do.

Erzsébet sighs as she closes her front door behind herself, putting her meager groceries down and wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. Now that that’s over with, she just needs to feed the animals, provided that the rooster hasn’t run away again, of course… Maybe she can mend the fence while she’s at it, so at least that problem will be solved.

But it’s dusk by the time she’s found the stupid bird and managed to coax it down from old woman Chernenkova’s shed, and now her mood is completely ruined, because she still has to make dinner with the sparse ingredients the rations allow for.

“Miss Héderváry?” calls an unfamiliar voice from the old woman’s house, and Erzsébet sighs again, shaking her unruly hair out of her eyes.

“Yes?” she shouts back. The rooster is trying to struggle his way out of her arms. She scowls at him ineffectively while a woman steps out of Mrs Chernenkova’s house and walks over to her. Erzsébet doesn’t think she’s seen her before, and in this village, that’s quite a feat. People pass through often, but none ever stay, and certainly none learn her name.

“Hello,” the woman says. “My aunt said to tell you that she needs your help tomorrow, with her—” she ducks away when the rooster tries to grab her sleeve— “vegetables.”

“Sorry,” Erzsébet says, wrapping her arms tighter around the angry bundle of feathers. The woman smiles a little, tucking some fine blonde hair back into one of her braids. “Your aunt?”

“Oh, yes, sorry. I’m Iryna Chernenkova. I’m staying with my aunt for a while. At home, it’s not…” She bites her lip, light eyes cast down. “Whatever the case. Nice to meet you, Miss Héderváry. My aunt speaks highly of you.”

Her Hungarian has the same lilts as Mrs Chernenkova’s has, but much more pronounced, as though she isn’t used to speaking the language. She must have been living in Russia, Erzsébet guesses. There have been more Ukrainians coming this way, passing through to distant parts of Austria-Hungary or even farther away in an attempt to escape having to fight their own people.

Erzsébet also severely doubts Mrs Chernenkova speaks highly of her, but she’ll leave that alone.

“Please call me Erzsébet, and tell your aunt I’ll stop by tomorrow afternoon.”

“Good.” Iryna smiles again. “I will probably see you around then.”

“Yes, you—” The rooster makes and angry noise and tries to bite her fingers. “I should get this one home.”

“Of course. Sorry to keep you.”

Erzsébet gives Iryna a tired smile and trudges up the path to her own house, which is large and so, so empty.

The following day dawns sunny and warm, but Erzsébet hasn’t felt the warmth in the villagers since she came here. Everything seems bleak when they know there is a war raging so close by, when there are so few men left, their absence reminding everyone of the situation, as if they could forget for a minute.

Still, old woman Chernenkova’s vegetables need to be harvested, war or no war, and Erzsébet does think it would be nice to have some new company in the form of Iryna. She mends the fence in the morning, pulling a childish triumphant face at the rooster as she leaves.

Mrs Chernenkova is bossy as always, but it’s good work, in the garden, and Iryna more than makes up for her aunt’s personality. She has a light voice, skilled fingers and a sadness in her eyes that Erzsébet is familiar with, because she sees it in the mirror whenever she can will herself to look into it, which isn’t very often these days. Iryna’s skirt is mended in several places and snatches on a wayward strawberry bush late in the afternoon, causing another rip.

She just sighs and wipes her forehead with her arm, getting dry earth stuck in her hair. The braids are pinned around her head today; Erzsébet thinks it looks very artful and curiously asks how it is done. Iryna tries to explain but ends up with leaves in her hair and her aunt shouting at both of them from her chair in the shade.

“I’ll show you another time,” she promises instead. Erzsébet tells her she looks forward to it. To her surprise, she really does.

And she does hold Iryna to it, inviting her over for dinner later that week and cooking something with the bit of her aunt’s vegetables she was allowed to take.

They only talk about trivial things. Not the war. Never the war. It’s all anyone seems to talk about these days, and it’s easy to see that they’re both so tired of it. Iryna talks about her childhood instead, and Erzsébet is pleased to learn that she was right, that she is indeed from the Ukraine, where she grew up on her family’s farm. She seems happy to remember, and Erzsébet is happy to watch her talk.

It’s always nice to meet new people, especially these days when everyone seems to be bearing so much history on their shoulders, and she already knows everyone from the village by now.

The evening is comfortable enough that they forget about the hair-braiding question, but that’s a good excuse to spend more time together the next week and over the rest of the summer.

Sometimes, it’s difficult. There are things either of them doesn’t want to talk about, and they have grown up with opposing views about some issues, but none of those little hardships matter much when the baker gets a message that her son has died in battle and more Ukrainians pass by the village almost daily.

“I should count myself lucky, I suppose,” Iryna says one day, as she and Erzsébet sit and clean Mrs Chernenkova’s clothes for her.

“Why?”

“I have my aunt here. So many people are just traveling into the unknown.”

Erzsébet bites her lip. “In that way, you might be right. But you came here all by yourself.”

This is one of those things they don’t talk about; how they both ended up here, Erzsébet from the German part of Austria-Hungary and Iryna from Russian Ukraine. Erzsébet is a curious person, but she knows when to stop asking.

To her surprise, Iryna sighs, pushes her hair away with a wet hand, and speaks in a low voice.

“I left my younger brother and sister behind, at home. My brother is probably fighting…”

“And your sister?” Erzsébet asks breathlessly, Mrs Chernenkova’s socks forgotten in the tub.

“I don’t know. She was supposed to go to a safe place too, but I…” Her voice cracks, and she covers the side of her face with her hand. “I’m sorry. I miss them.”

“I understand,” Erzsébet whispers, staring straight ahead at the dusky red sky, fingers absentmindedly grasping the familiar weight of the necklace resting against her breastbone.

“You do?”

When Erzsébet looks up at Iryna, her shining eyes are flicking from her face to the hand at her throat. She swallows, and tugs the necklace out of her shirt. Iryna’s lips part in surprise at the ring dangling from the thin band.

“I was engaged,” Erzsébet explains. “He was called to war, and never came back.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Iryna says quietly. Slowly, she reaches out to Erzsébet, curling her long, callused fingers around her wrist, stroking circles into the frail skin there with her thumb.

“I’m glad I met you, though.”

Iryna is looking down at her aunt’s socks, but the flush on her cheeks is clearly visible even through the damp tear tracks marring the pale skin. Erzsébet smiles.

“I feel the same.”

And really, everything is a bit more bearable with Iryna around. Erzsébet has been keeping herself as busy as possible, if only to prevent herself from thinking about her fiancé, imagining what they would be doing, how they would be living now, if it weren’t for the war.

Iryna isn’t like that, she learns after that evening. She likes to sit and talk about her siblings whenever she can. She tries to do so with her aunt, but Mrs Chernenkova evidently doesn’t feel much like talking about anything most of the time. Erzsébet, on the other hand, is more than willing to listen, if not talk in return.

At least, not for a while.

As winter approaches and the end of the war seems further away than ever, she thinks that maybe Iryna always seems happier when she remembers Ivan and Natalya, and maybe… Just maybe, she herself shouldn’t let Roderich’s memory be sullied by the war.

“He always did want to live forever,” she tells Iryna in the forest, where they are gathering firewood for themselves and old woman Chernenkova, who is already complaining about cold feet despite it hardly being October yet.

“Really? In what way?”

Erzsébet smiles to herself, then realizes it is the first time in a while she has allowed the happy memories in like that, let them overrule her sadness about the fact that he’s gone.

“Music,” she answers. “He loved music. I’m certain he wanted to be the next Beethoven or something like that.”

“That’s amazing,” Iryna says. And then, as if she understands that that is all Erzsébet will say about it today, “Have I told you that I used to be in a choir?”

Erzsébet listens to her sing softly while they walk back to the village.

News from outside is sparse, apart from the occasional inevitable message no one wants to hear, but it is hard to miss even here that there is a lot going on across the border in Russia. Now, it is Erzsébet’s turn to take Iryna’s mind off things, which she does most effectively by talking more about what life was like before the war, without ever voicing the clear hope that it will be like that again someday.

It’s a futile hope, whatever happens. Their world has been irrevocably changed. Maybe the entire world. Everyone understands that, here and elsewhere, but Iryna and Erzsébet are their own little island, sharing their feelings with each other and trying to make sense of them against all odds. It becomes easier as time passes. The hurt never goes away, but it’s easier to place, without ever, as Erzsébet feared, forgetting what it stems from.

Erzsébet realizes it has been quite some time since she trusted anyone, really. With everything. In fact, it was probably her fiancé. The thought throws her for a loop until she tells Iryna, who says that it’s in no way a betrayal of his memory to trust her. Erzsébet hadn’t even recognized that that was her issue with it, but understands now.

It all comes down to letting things go or choosing to hang on to them, even if either may hurt as much as the other.

When yet another year rolls around, 1917 melting seamlessly into 1918, Erzsébet and Iryna sit in front of the small fire in Erzsébet’s living room, close together in an effort to get warm. Iryna is knitting. After watching her for a while – she can’t knit herself, despite her mother’s best efforts – Erzsébet is now just trying to warm her feet. The soles of her shoes are paper thin, nearly walked off, but it isn’t easy to get new ones these days.

Some part of her wishes sometimes that the fighting would come closer. That it would become obvious why everything is like this. Why her fiancé is gone. It’s stupid and selfish, and she hates herself for thinking it.

“Iryna?” she whispers, almost afraid to break the, if not peaceful, then at least restful, silence.

“Yes?” The knitting needles tick against one another without pause, a steady rhythm over the weak crackling of flames.

“Will you sing something?”

The ticking stops, and Iryna looks up, light blue eyes shadowed but clear. She pushes one of her braids over her shoulder.

“Of course. What?”

Erzsébet shrugs. She knows that there is a song she’s been wanting to hear, but she’s used to hearing it played on piano, and has no idea if Iryna would even know it.

Iryna keeps looking at her while she puts her knitting project away. The fire paints hues of red in her hair; it strikes Erzsébet not for the first time how beautiful she is despite the hardships life has wrought on her.

“I… I know a song,” she says, voice low. “I don’t know if you do.”

“Tell me.”

Erzsébet does, and Iryna does. She sings slowly and clearly, voice as low as Erzsébet’s. Some words are different in her version, but that doesn’t matter to Erzsébet, whose eyes well up with tears not because of the past, but because of the unsure future, because of this quiet moment amid a world of chaos. She wants to hold onto it for as long as she can.

Wants to hold on to Iryna, who is reaching out to her, wiping her cheeks dry with callused thumbs while she keeps singing.

When the song does end, she opens her mouth as if to say something, but Erzsébet shakes her head, then leans forward to wrap her arms around her shoulders. She pushes her nose against Iryna’s neck. Iryna embraces her too.

“Thank you,” Erzsébet whispers. “That was beautiful.”

“Thank you,” Iryna returns. Her hands are warm on Erzsébet’s back, warmer than the fire could ever hope to be. Everything feels slightly unreal in this moment, feels like the both of them are suspended like tightrope walkers between a Before and After, and it isn’t the war for once.

“Erzsi?” Iryna asks.

“Don’t… Don’t say anything for a while?” Erzsébet asks.

She hums in response, arms tightening. And keeps humming. The melody is unfamiliar to Erzsébet, but sounds as if it should be a lullaby. Both of them, she supposes, have memories locked in music.

She can’t tell how long they have sat there when she finally pulls back enough to look at Iryna, eyes tracing the fan of pale eyelashes over a wet cheekbone and the thin lips tugged into a tired, but genuine smile. She swallows. Iryna’s fingers card through her loose hair where it falls over her back.

“Don’t leave me,” Erzsébet whispers. Iryna tugs her closer again, pushes their foreheads together.

“I won’t,” she promises. “We will see it through together.”

And for the first time in years, Erzsébet looks forward to what the future may hold.