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a-boros-named-seamus · 2 years ago

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A Wolfsblood Moon-NaNoWriMo Day 1

Prologue

Deep in the forbidding and magic-forged range of mountains known as the World's Horns, there sits a broad, fertile valley known as Ahngtir. Its lowland cities are lush with trade from the Moonsrest Sea and merchants passing between neighboring cities.

This story does not begin there.

Instead, we cast our gaze northward, to dark forests and windswept highlands when the wolves and winds howl in bone-chilling harmony and magic runs through society as thickly as mortar between bricks.

In these savage lands, two men whose names will echo for all of history are just beginning to write their sagas

Chapter 1

As I ran under leaf-laden boughs and the slowly growing pre-dawn light, I could feel the world shift around me.

The garish glows of night-colors faded from leaves and mushrooms as vibrant blooms started to unfurl. Hoots and howls trailed off as the first strains of birdsong started up, and even the feel of wind through my fur changed ever so gradually. Even the scenes shifted, the petrichor from the night's rain mingling with fragrant pollen and animal mush to paint me a picture of the world beyond the scant details of sight and sound.

To this I added my own scent and sound. My paws thundered on the cool dirt and my snarls heralded the snap of bone as I ate a rabbit. My scent sent the smaller animals that composed my breakfast running, and that made it all the sweeter when blood finally soaked my muzzle and still-warm meat slid down my gullet.

Once I sated myself, I took off on my patrol, using the blessings of my wolf's skin to search out any new dangers to the town and check up on known ones. Grimfeather and her adorable gryfflets were sated, the game available in the valley precluding them from more sapient suppers. The bandits lurking up in the old barrows were still behaving themselves after the last time we had to have a "Chat", even managing to avoid upsetting the treants.

There were whiffs of necromancy down at the battlefield graveyard along the Red Ford, though. That was deeply concerning, especially considering the gnarled scar of magic upon the land there. With that last check at the edge of the territory, I headed for home, the sun hanging low just above the horizon when I reached the gate, returning to my human flesh mid stride and grabbing my kilt from where i stashed it and wrapping the tartan cloth around myself so as not to scandalize the young maidens and bachelors. I managed to time it just right, greeting the guards at the gate by name as the scent of almost-done pastries wafting down the street from the bakery. By the time I reached it, the baker's lass was setting the pastries in the display, to be kept fresh and warm all day by the magic etched upon the glass.

"Morning, Ingrid," I said as the bell on the door jingled

"Oh, Arthur!" Instead of the pleasant, lilting greeting she used for customers, she practically squeaked out my name in a voice several octaves higher than her usual, blushing and smoothing her dress.

I just smiled and nodded "Yes, it is I. What's on the menu today?"

"Oh, it's all apple and pumpkin and cherry today," she said, pulling out a butcher's paper pouch, "I saved you a tart"

I took the pastry with a smile, bobbing my head and taking in the tart scent of the cherries, and then opened the paper and took a bite. "This is delicious, Ingrid! Tell your father thanks from me. And thank you"

With that, I took my leave, whistling as I walked up the road to the manor at the center of town. Like all structures in the Wolfswood, it was built for function first, with the details that displayed the wealth of its inhabitant coming in wards carved into the frame and lovingly made carvings on door frames and shutters rather than opulent carved marble or gold leaf. It felt the the whole town did. Solid and old.

I let myself in the back way, grabbed my pack off of a peg by the door, and drew myself a bath in the washroom. Runes at the joints of the old pipes drew water up from the well and heated it along the way. Perfect for washing off the grime of the forest. After washing and drying myself I dressed myself, pulling on my underthings and boots, then my tunic, and then pinning my kilt back on, making sure that everything sat right before walking down the wood paneled halls to the maproom.

Sitting behind the desk, draped in tartan in the same pattern as mine, save for the Ranger-Captain pin holding it in place was my mother, Ranger-Captain Brighid. Her knitting needles were clacking as she read over reports and wrote letters to be carried by raven to the smaller villages and thorpes in the area.

As I walked in and stood at parade rest she looked up and smiled "Good morning Arthur. How was your patrol?"

I set half of the pastry i got from ingrid on her desk "The valley is calm, save for some trobling traces of necromancy over by the Red Ford," I said, fidgeting with my hands behind my back as my eyes slid across the room, across the books on the shelves, the basket of yarn, the magically updated map of the area, and my mother's cluttered-but-clean desk.

She understood, not demanding my eye contact, saying "Well that's no good. We will have to put a watch on that area. Any other trouble?"

"No, mum. We'll have to keep an eye on the population of deer, but otherwise all is well," as I speak, she takes the tart and takes a bite, smiling at me as she swallows it.

"Good. Make your reports, and then you're free for a few hours," she said, as amusement warmed her features, "I know that women hold no interest for you, but let that Ingrid lass down gently, otherwise you'll have to start buying the pastries you bring me every morning"

That gets a chuckle from me. "Of course, mum. She knows, she's just nice."

The amusement then grows into mischief as she says "That is good. Wouldn't want her to be disappointed when you and Cathair finally realize that you two are in love"

I have to take a moment to recover from choking on the water i was drinking out of my flask "Mother!" It comes out as a startled yelp "He's just my friend!" I left the "closest" part out, since that would just encourage her "And, in any case, I'm not even looking for love right now," I say, trying to regain my composure.

Outside the maproom window, across the main square, there was a whoosh as the smith, Arden, brought the forge-fire to life with his magic, passed down from master to apprentice for centuries. If Arden was up, it meant Cathair, his apprentice, was not far behind.

"Well, I will not keep you. Go enjoy your morning, and we'll go take a look at the Red Ford this afternoon."

I gave my mother a smile and a nod, and turned, heading out of the room and then out to the square, thinking warmly about Cathair.

Chapter 2

As I stepped out into the square, i breathed in the warm air. A relic of older days, it was encircled by a tall wall, with guardposts set atop and gates where the streets flowed out into town. Within the wall's circumference were all the important services of the town. The master smith, the post office, a tavern, the winter storehouses, a small library, the apothecary, a few shrines, and even a mage's tower all sat inside the walls. There was another, stouter, wall around the rest of the town, of course, but all of the important buildings were gathered in the main square. In times of war or calamity, the buildings in the main square could house the whole town, with a bit of difficulty. The skills of Arden, and his necessity to keeping the rangers and guard well equipped, meant that he got pride of place directly across from the manor. He usually preferred to prepare the forge by himself, and Cathair's skills were such that his abilities could be trusted not to slip. Which meant that I could steal a good half hour of his time each morning.

Cathair was sitting on the porch, eating porridge and sipping at a new favorite kind of tea of ours that one of the traders brought up from down south, called coffee. As always, i stopped to take the whole of him in, from his thick black hair and beard, to his piercing gold eyes contrasting his green skin, to his strong, tusked, jaw and muscular torso and across his powerful arms. Even his clothes i fixed in my memory, a fusion of kilt and apron popular among smiths and other craftspeople over a long sleeved tunic, rolled up past his elbows, revealing hard won scars from his training as a smith. Upon seeing me, those gold eyes lit up and a grin split his face under his tusks, mirrored on my own face.

"Arthur!" he called, sitting up and setting down his spoon.

I crossed the distance between myself and the porch in a few quick strides, grasping the forearm he offered me and saying "Cathair, it's good to talk to you! I've missed having the chance the last few days!"

"Even if you hadn't been running all over hither and yon on four paws, I'd have been too busy with the forge to talk" he said, sitting back down and pouring me a cup of coffee.

"Well, that is how it goes. It ended up being a lot of work for not much, but blazes if the evidence didn't have us all fooled."

"You're telling me. Arden had me hammering out weapons and shields left and right only for it to end up being a teenager who misused a transformation spell scroll and ended up a wyvern"

I chuckle, taking a sip of my coffee after taking a moment to pull some of the heat out and toss it into the air, and say "Well, the armory can never be too well stocked. One never knows what may lurk in the deep wilds."

Cathair nods, silent for a moment as he finishes his porridge. "Well, I should go help Arden," he says as he gets up.

I get up too. "So soon? Doesn’t he get ornery when you do that?"

"And? He needs the help. See you tomorrow for our day off?"

I felt my lips pulling into a wide grin. "Wouldn't miss it"

He then walks off, doing small, interesting, stretches to prepare for his day.

#nano 2023 #nanowrimo #orc #gay werewolf #mlm yearning #fantasy #adventure #romance

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aghost-writer · 3 months ago

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Love Me... Until the End

Chapter 23

This is a Yandere Tokyo Ghoul x Female Reader Fic!

MDNI!!

Amon’s fingers brushed the surface of his briefcase as he lifted it from the table. His expression was hard, his jaw clenched with determination. Inside lay his quinque, a weapon forged from the flesh of ghouls. A tool of justice—or so he believed. He turned his gaze to the building ahead, its towering frame casting a dark shadow over the street.

“It’s time,” Amon muttered under his breath, his voice low but resolute. “Y/N, I’m coming for you.”

A sudden flare streaked through the night sky, its bright red light illuminating the battlefield below. It was the signal. The order had been given.

The air erupted into chaos. Gunfire echoed sharply, the deafening staccato cutting through the tense silence. Shouts from both sides overlapped, their voices filled with determination and desperation.

Juuzou grinned, perched on his motorcycle at the edge of the fray. His white hair was windswept, and his eyes glinted with manic excitement. “Oh, this is going to be fun,” he sang to himself as he revved the engine.

Without hesitation, Juuzou sped forward, weaving through the scattered debris and fallen bodies. The CCG soldiers flanked him, their firearms blazing as they pushed toward the building. Juuzou’s laughter rang out, sharp and chaotic, as he accelerated toward the entrance.

At the last second, he yanked the handlebars hard, launching himself and the bike into the air. The motorcycle spun beneath him, flipping as Juuzou let go and pulled out his twin pistols.

“Eeny, meeny, miny, moe!” he yelled, his voice almost playful.

Bullets sprayed out in a deadly arc, tearing through the ghouls who had gathered to defend the entrance. Juuzou landed with a graceful roll, already aiming his pistols again before the first ghoul hit the ground.

One of them lunged toward him, claws extended, but Juuzou was faster. He ducked under the attack and plunged a blade into its chest, twisting it with a gleeful smirk.

“Too slow!” he taunted as the ghoul crumpled.

Behind him, the CCG soldiers surged forward.

“Give them hell!” Marude’s commanding voice roared from the backlines, spurring the soldiers into action.

The squad let out a fierce battle cry as they stormed the building. The sound of boots pounding against concrete mixed with the relentless gunfire, creating a cacophony of destruction.

Inside, the battle raged on. The ghouls fought viciously, their kagune slicing through the air, but the CCG soldiers pushed forward with unrelenting force. Blood splattered the walls, pooling beneath the fallen.

Amon advanced methodically, his quinque gleaming as it cut down the enemies in his path. His focus never wavered. His goal was clear: find Y/N.

“This isn’t just another mission,” Amon thought, his grip tightening on the quinque. “I won’t let them keep her.”

In the distance, Juuzou’s laughter echoed once again, a chilling reminder that chaos was both ally and enemy in this war.

And above it all, the flare in the sky began to fade, leaving only the sounds of battle to fill the night. The war had begun. ・。・。・。・。・。・。・。・。・。・。・。・。・・。・。・

“Is everyone ready to move?” Yomo’s voice was low, cutting through the stillness of the room.

The Anteiku ghouls nodded silently. No one spoke—there was nothing left to say. They all knew why they were here.

Uta leaned casually against the wall, his head tilted as if this were just another of his games. “Of course, I’m coming. Can’t let them keep her, can I?”

Touka shot him a glare. “You better be serious about this.”

Uta gave her a thin smile. “I don’t take kindly to people stealing what’s mine.”

Yoshimura stepped forward, his presence commanding the room. “We don’t have time for arguments. The CCG is already closing in. We move now.”

Outside, the air crackled with tension.

The CCG surrounded the building in a silent, unyielding line. Guns and quinques gleamed under the dim light, their presence a grim reminder of the stakes.

From their position inside, Uta peered through a broken slat in the wall. “It’s almost quiet enough to hear their breathing. They’re waiting for us to make the first move.”

Touka tightened her fists, forcing her nerves to stay steady. The mission was clear—get in, find Y/N, get out. Nothing else mattered.

Yomo gestured silently, and the ghouls began their ascent up the stairwell. Each step echoed like a drumbeat in the hollow structure. The silence was broken only by the occasional clash, a quick and brutal end to the Aogiri ghouls who got in their way.

Touka moved ahead, her sharp eyes scanning every corner. She couldn’t shake the gnawing dread in her stomach. Every empty room, every bloodied hallway only heightened her frustration.

“Where are you?” she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper.

The air shifted. Touka froze, her instincts flaring as she turned sharply.

“Don’t move!”

Amon’s voice rang out, cold and resolute.

He stepped into view, his quinque raised. The glint in his eye was sharp, unyielding. “You’re not going any farther.”

Touka’s eyes narrowed behind her mask. She didn’t have time for him. Not now.

“I don’t have anything to say to you,” she spat, her tone sharp.

Amon’s grip on his weapon tightened. “This isn’t about you. It’s about her.”

Y/N.

Touka’s chest burned with anger. Even now, Y/N was just a prize to them.

“Move,” she demanded, her voice low and dangerous.

“Not a chance,” Amon replied, surging forward.

Touka dodged the swing of his quinque, her movements quick and precise. But he was relentless, his strikes coming faster and harder.

“You think I’ll let you take her back?” Amon growled. “Not when she’s—”

Touka cut him off with a sharp kick, sending him stumbling. “She doesn’t belong to you.”

The words came out fiercer than she expected.

Amon recovered quickly, his next swing grazing the air by her face. Touka’s frustration mounted with every second. She couldn’t keep this up. She couldn’t waste time.

As if answering her unspoken plea, the sound of a struggle erupted nearby. A group of Aogiri ghouls clashed with Yomo and Uta in the stairwell, the noise drawing Amon’s attention for a brief moment.

It was enough. Touka took her chance, darting down the hallway before Amon could stop her.

She didn’t stop running. Her breath came in sharp bursts, her heart pounding as she tore through the building.

But every room was empty. Every door she threw open led to nothing but silence.

Her hands trembled as she reached for the next handle, dread curling in her gut.

When she swung it open, the room was empty, just like the others.

Touka staggered back, frustration and fear threatening to overwhelm her.

“Where are you?” she whispered again, her voice cracking.

Somewhere in the distance, she heard Uta’s voice, cool and steady. “Keep looking.”

She gritted her teeth and pushed forward. She had to find Y/N. She couldn’t let her slip away—not again. ・。・。・。・。・。・。・。・。・。・。・。・。・・。・。・

Y/N sat in the chair, her back straight and her expression calm, even as the agonized screams of Kaneki tore through the room. She didn’t flinch, didn’t let her mask slip, though inside, she was unraveling. Every scream, every laugh from Yamori chipped away at the resolve she had built up to endure this nightmare.

“How many was that? I lost count again,” Yamori asked, his voice casual as if he were discussing the weather.

“559,” Kaneki rasped, his voice barely audible through the pain.

Y/N clenched her fists in her lap, nails biting into her palms. She didn’t cry. She wouldn’t cry. What good would it do? She couldn’t stop this madness, but she could endure it. If nothing else, she could ensure that Kaneki wasn’t alone.

“Take some time to recover. We’ll be back in a little while,” Yamori said, standing up and dusting himself off.

He walked over to her, grabbing her wrist with a force that would have made anyone else crumble. Y/N didn’t resist as he pulled her to her feet, carrying her out of the room. She kept her gaze steady, refusing to look back at Kaneki. Not because she was afraid, but because she couldn’t let Kaneki see the turmoil in her eyes.

Yamori set her down in the adjacent room and left her there briefly. She stood alone, staring at the wall, her chest tight with rage. It wasn’t fear that paralyzed her; it was the knowledge that every move she made had to count. One misstep, and it wouldn’t just be her life at stake—it would be Kaneki’s.

When Yamori returned, he dragged her back to the “playroom,” her torn clothes a cruel reminder of his power over her. He pushed her into the chair, securing her there once again as though she were an accessory to his game.

“I want you to watch closely, (Y/N),” Yamori said with a grin, retrieving a centipede from his pocket.

Her jaw tightened, but she didn’t look away. She met his eyes with a defiance that made Yamori chuckle.

Kaneki, bound and battered, begged weakly, “Please… don’t…”

Yamori ignored him, placing the writhing insect at Kaneki’s ear. Y/N’s stomach churned as Kaneki screamed, the sound reverberating in her skull. Her calm exterior wavered for a split second, her fingers curling tighter into fists.

“Yamori,” she called, her voice firm but even.

Yamori turned his head, intrigued by her tone.

“Don’t you think you’ve made your point?” she asked, her voice devoid of fear.

Yamori laughed, amused by her composure. “You’ve got spirit. I like that.”

He didn’t stop. The centipede disappeared into Kaneki’s ear, and his screams intensified.

Y/N gritted her teeth, forcing herself to watch. Her nails dug into her palms so hard she felt the sting of blood, but she didn’t flinch. She wouldn’t give Yamori the satisfaction of seeing her break.

Kaneki’s cries faded to ragged gasps, and Y/N’s gaze lingered on him. He was still fighting, still holding on. She wouldn’t let his suffering be in vain.

Yamori turned his attention back to her, his twisted grin widening. He dragged her from the chair again, pulling her into his lap.

“You’re mine,” he murmured, his hands gripping her arms like a vice.

Y/N’s expression didn’t falter. She stared straight ahead, her voice low but steady. “Then prove it. Take me to the bedroom where no one else can see. Or are you afraid of being alone with me?”

Her words were calculated, designed to play on his ego. Yamori laughed, pleased by her apparent submission. “Fine. Just me and you.”

He set her down and left the room briefly. The moment he was gone, Y/N’s mind raced. She wasn’t a coward. She wouldn’t run. Not yet. Not until she found a way to turn the tide.

When Yamori returned, he brought two ghouls with him. They were dragged before Kaneki and Y/N, their faces bloodied but defiant.

“You’re going to choose which one lives,” Yamori said, his voice dripping with sadistic glee.

Kaneki struggled against his chains, his voice hoarse. “No… I can’t…”

Y/N’s eyes darted between the two ghouls. Her chest tightened, but her face remained impassive. She wouldn’t play Yamori’s game, wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her hesitate.

“I’m not choosing,” she said, her voice clear and firm.

Yamori’s grin faltered for a moment before he turned to Kaneki. “What about you, kid? Still holding out hope for these weaklings?”

Yamori killed them both, their deaths swift and brutal. Y/N’s stomach twisted, but she forced herself to remain still.

Then, it happened. Kaneki’s hair turned white, his entire demeanor shifting.

“Kaneki,” she murmured, her voice low but steady.

The chains snapped. Yamori’s laughter turned into a roar as Kaneki attacked, the room filled with the sound of metal and flesh.

Y/N didn’t run. She stepped back, watching as Kaneki unleashed everything he had. When it was over, Yamori lay lifeless on the floor, and Kaneki turned to her, his gaze wild.

“You’re free,” Y/N said, her voice calm.

Kaneki stepped toward her, his expression softening. “I did this for you.”

Y/N held his gaze, her voice steady as she replied, “Then let’s leave together.” ・。・。・。・。・。・。・。・。・。・。・。・。・・。・。・

Hide pedaled furiously through the rain-slick streets of Tokyo, his breathing steady despite the burning in his legs. His bike’s tires hissed against the wet pavement, the quiet hum of the city drowned out by his own single-minded focus. He sped past Anteiku, the warm glow of the café lights a stark contrast to the cold, damp night outside. He barely noticed. His thoughts were consumed by her.

Y/N.

The name repeated in his head like a mantra, keeping his feet moving and his resolve strong. She was waiting for him, and he couldn’t keep her waiting. Not now. Not after everything.

His hands gripped the handlebars tightly as he leaned forward, urging the bike to go faster. The streets were nearly empty, save for the occasional pedestrian or car, but none of them mattered. None of it mattered. His destination was clear, and nothing would stand in his way.

She was waiting for him.

He swallowed hard, his heart pounding in his chest. Was she okay? Had something happened? He couldn’t shake the gnawing anxiety in the back of his mind, the fear that he was too late. That someone—or something—had reached her first.

But no. He refused to let those thoughts take hold. She was strong. She had always been strong. He admired that about her, the way she carried herself with quiet confidence, the way she remained calm even in the face of chaos.

Still, tonight was different.

He had her to himself now. Finally. After all this time. After all the moments spent in the shadows, watching her from afar, wondering if she’d ever truly see him. Now she was his, and he was hers.

He had to hurry.

The bike’s chain clicked as he shifted gears, the motion automatic, his body moving on instinct. He took a sharp turn down a narrow alley, splashing through a puddle that soaked his shoes and the cuffs of his jeans. He barely noticed.

The city blurred around him as he focused on the road ahead, the faint glow of a distant streetlamp guiding him. His chest tightened as he thought of her, waiting for him, trusting him to find her.

His mind raced with thoughts of what he would say when he saw her, of how he would make her understand. He had been patient for so long, content to be her friend, her confidant. But now, everything had changed.

He gritted his teeth, pushing himself harder. The bike wobbled slightly as he hit a bump in the road, but he steadied it, his focus unbroken.

She was waiting for him.

The thought spurred him on, a flicker of warmth in the cold night air. He would reach her. He had to.

As the road stretched out before him, Hide’s determination grew. No matter what lay ahead, no matter who tried to stop him, he would find her.

She was waiting for him. And this time, he wouldn’t let her down. ・。・。・。・。・。・。・。・。・。・。・。・。・・。・。・

Kaneki led Y/N through the dimly lit corridors of the Aogiri base, his hand firmly gripping hers as they hurried toward the exit. The faint echoes of gunfire and clashing steel reached their ears, growing louder with every step. Y/N’s breathing was steady, her calm exterior betraying none of the storm churning within her. But Kaneki could feel her tension in the way her fingers clenched his.

As they reached the bottom of a staircase, Kaneki came to a sudden stop, glancing upward. The sounds of the battle outside were deafening now, a symphony of violence that painted a clear picture of the chaos awaiting them.

Y/N tightened her grip on his hand. “Kaneki, we’re close. We can make it if we keep moving.”

Kaneki turned to face her, his pale, scarred features set in determination. His white hair, stained with specks of blood, seemed to glow in the dim light. “No,” he said firmly. “We can’t leave together.”

Y/N frowned, her calm mask slipping slightly. “What are you talking about? We’ve made it this far. We can—”

“It’s too dangerous,” Kaneki interrupted, his voice soft but resolute. “The CCG is here, and they won’t hesitate to kill anyone who gets in their way—ghoul or human. If we stay together, you’ll be their target just as much as I am.”

“I’m not afraid of them,” Y/N said, her voice steady, but there was a flicker of hesitation in her eyes.

Kaneki shook his head. “I know you’re not. But if something happens to you because of me…” He trailed off, his jaw tightening. “I couldn’t live with that.”

Y/N’s gaze softened, but her lips pressed into a thin line. “So, what? You’re going to face them alone? That’s your plan?”

Kaneki took a step closer, his crimson eye meeting hers. “I’ll draw them away. You need to go to Anteiku. Yoshimura and the others are there. They’ll keep you safe.”

“And what about you?” she asked, her voice quieter now. “What happens to you, Kaneki?”

Kaneki forced a small smile. “I’ll be fine. I’ll meet you there.”

Y/N stared at him for a long moment, searching his face for any hint of doubt. She found none. “You’re not giving me a choice, are you?”

Kaneki shook his head. “No.”

She exhaled slowly, her calm facade returning. “Fine. But if you don’t show up, I’m coming back here to drag you out myself. Understand?”

Kaneki’s smile grew, faint but genuine. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

Reluctantly, Y/N released his hand, her fingers lingering for a moment before pulling away. Without another word, she turned and began ascending the stairs, her footsteps steady and deliberate.

Kaneki watched her go, a mixture of relief and regret swirling in his chest. “Stay safe, Y/N,” he whispered, before turning in the opposite direction, heading toward the chaos.

#yandere x reader #yandere #yandere tokyo ghoul #yandere tokyo ghoul x reader #tokyo ghoul x reader

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veebs-hates-video-games · 7 months ago

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And a couple more failed attempts to play games.

Persona 5 Strikers is the least fun I've ever had with a Warriors/Musou game. It has the same agonizingly slow pacing the mainline SMT/Persona games frequently do (and Metaphor too, judging by the demo), which works for some people but is totally incompatible with my ADHD. And then even after like 40 minutes straight of dialogue (in a supposed action game) the gameplay just doesn't do it for me at all in any way. I award you no points. Get off my computer. Somehow the only SMT/Persona-adjacent games I've actually enjoyed are still Tokyo Mirage Sessions and BlazBlue Cross Tag Battle.

Also Once on a Windswept Night is another victim of "second person is not a valid point of view". I wish I could set up custom filters to block that stuff like on AO3, because it's just not my jam. I will give it points for being the only thing I've ever played on the Steam Deck that somehow broke the keyboard overlay so badly that I couldn't even close or hide it long enough to force quit the game.

I like it more when I don't live up to this blog's name quite so well as I have been this week. Maybe I'll have better luck next week.

#persona 5 strikers #persona series #once on a windswept night #ebi-hime series

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myladybelle · 1 year ago

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𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐓𝐘 𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐍? | prologue

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: art donaldson x female!reader x patrick zweig 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you’ve always been content being second place to your best friend tashi duncan, waiting for the day you can quit tennis. your world is upended when you meet art and patrick, and you’re forced to embrace a life in the sport you’ve been too afraid to claim for yourself. 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠(𝐬): bad relationship with controlling mother, use of y/n 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 605 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: y/i stands for your initial since your and tashi’s nicknames for each other are the initial of your first name. this prologue is a quick intro to the reader and her relationship to tennis and tashi. more to come very soon, i hope you enjoy xx 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐧��𝐱𝐭

𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐒𝐃𝐀𝐋𝐄, 𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐘𝐎𝐑𝐊 – 𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝟐𝟗, 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟗

The last thing you expected was to get a text from Tashi Duncan asking you to meet at her hotel during the Phil’s Tire Town ATP Challenger in New Rochelle. Four weeks from the 2019 US Open and your attempt at winning your 20th Grand Slam title, the woman who used to be like your sister wasn’t on your mind. Even though you liked to think you’d moved on from the tumultuous relationships that plagued your teens and twenties, one text from Tashi was all it took to throw you off your game at practice that day.

UNKNOWN: I need to see you. New Rochelle Ritz-Carlton lobby, tonight. -T

You had to laugh at the universe’s sense of humour.

Tashi was practically around the corner. You’d been raised in the affluent and perfectly manicured town of Scarsdale, New York, in a lifeless estate your mother earned with her illustrious tennis career. You hated every second of it growing up. Ever since you could remember, you promised you wouldn’t end up there. Yet here you were on the estate that your career-long endorsement from Nike practically signed the cheque for. It had a private tennis court where your father now coached you and was, coincidentally, ten minutes away from your former best friend’s hotel.

You didn’t owe it to Tashi to come see her.

After all, she was the one whose venomous words had cut the ties of your friendship in the first place. But that was after Art and Patrick. Your lives had been so different before that fateful night you first met the pair of best friends. You agreed to meet Tashi for the sake of a friendship that used to be the only important thing in your life.

Y/N: I’ll be there at 8pm if you come alone

Her reply came seconds later as if she was sitting by the phone waiting to hear from you.

TASHI: Thank you, Y/I. I’ll leave your name at the reception.

In your earliest memories, your hair is tied out of your face, your tennis shoes are laced tightly, and you’re staring up at your mother as she corrects your posture. You’re holding a Wilson tennis racket, a children’s version of the same model your mother used at Grand Slams in the 70s, and holding back tears. You couldn’t have been older than five, and your future was written for you.

Your tennis coaches emphasised to your mother that this stage of tennis training was essential to making the sport fun and fostering a love for the game, and she’d ignore their advice.

The first time tennis was fun for you was when you were fourteen years old, and you played a girl named Tashi Duncan at a tennis club match for girls. Her backhand was like thunder, and for once, you forgot all of your mother’s perfectionistic laments and realised how exciting the game could be when your opponent truly loved the sport. When you won the match, Tashi looked windswept and stunned. While you expected her to give you a reluctant handshake before rushing off to regroup with her coach, fourteen-year-old Tashi Duncan had given you a hug and asked to exchange numbers.

“I’ve never played with another real tennis player before,” Tashi gushed when you typed your number into her phone. “I can tell you actually understand the game. I look forward to battling it out with you again.”

Neither of you realised that most of your battles would play out off the court or that they’d hurt far more than losing a game of tennis.

#challengers #challengers x reader #art donaldson x reader #patrick zweig x reader #mike faist x reader #josh o connor x reader #challengers fanfiction #challengers fanfic #art donaldson #patrick zweig #tashi duncan #fic: guilty as sin?

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britesparc · 1 year ago

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Weekend Top Ten #633

Top Ten Fictional Cities

If there’s one thing I like in my fiction, it’s a good sense of place. You want to be immersed in an alternative world; so it’s nice to know where you actually are. Of course, tons of fiction is set in real places: whether that’s an historical drama like The Crown necessarily inhabiting the palaces Queen Elizabeth did actually occupy; or a film such as The Full Monty being specifically set in contemporary Sheffield; or even the bulk of the MCU taking place in what’s supposed to be a believable version of New York. Plenty of films and shows and books and everything else revel in their location; how many times have we heard “the city is a character”, usually when describing urban crime dramas (or, frankly, Batman films)? But it’s true; a great location can ground a story, or it can transport you. There can be a realness even to the most fantastical of fictional locales.

And I really do love a fictional locale. Whether it’s the unrecognisable cityscapes of the likes of Blade Runner or The Fifth Element – ostensibly set in real-world cities such as Los Angeles and New York many years hence (“many years” in Blade Runner’s case being, er, 2019) – or places that are made up entirely, it’s great to see the wildness, weirdness, and even the realism that these made-up metropoli deliver. Think about it: how many of your favourite fictions take place in not-real location? Of course you can look at total fantasies like Lord of the Rings, or sci-fi stories that exist on other planets; but whether it’s as crazy a place as Roger Rabbit’s Toontown, the sprawling cities of games like Cyberpunk 2077 or Crackdown, or even the fictionalised township of Derry, Maine in several Stephen King stories, across the gamut of genre, medium, and audience, we have places that aren’t real giving us stories that feel real.

Because, again, the best settings reinforce the fiction they envelop. I don’t want to pre-empt the list itself, but look at how Gotham and Metropolis reflect the heroes that live there. This can be both sublime and ridiculous: the way the fictionalised cities of Grand Theft Auto serve not only to reinforce the themes of the games they inhabit, but also work as subtle (and not so subtle) parodies of American life; but also the way you’d get a place like Duckburg in Duck Tales, or even Far, Far Away in the Shrek movies, that really don’t have much purpose other than giving fantastical cartoon characters a home and allowing for some wince-inducing puns when it comes to the names of shops and stuff.

Blimey, I’ve wanged on a bit this week.

Anyway, I love a made-up city, that’s what I’m saying. And that’s what this list is, if you hadn’t guessed. Now, as usual, I’ve given myself rules; one is that these are supposed to be cities. There’s one that I’m not certain of (I’ll come to it) – it might be a town, technically, but I’ve allowed it on the basis of its iconicness (is that a word?). Also, they have to be fictional; so the likes of Marvel’s New York or Blade Runner’s LA are out. As are, frankly, the in-all-but-name cities of GTA; I don’t really think Liberty City is any more fictional than the New York inhabited by the Avengers, it’s just got a made-up name to go along with its made up buildings and locations. This has also stretched to Neo-Tokyo from Akira, which is really just Tokyo with a hole in the middle. However, I am allowing Mega-City One.

I think that’s it. Let’s go on a city break!

Gotham and Metropolis (Batman and Superman comics, from 1938): yes, once again I cheat at the start. Two cities! But often they’re thought of as twin cities, so, y’know. Whatever. Anyway: they are always a yin and a yang, the light and the dark, reflections of their principal heroes. Metropolis, shining city on the hill, beacon of the future; Gotham, dark and brooding gothic vision, its windswept alleys awash with rain. They’ve been called New York in the day and New York in the night, and as representations of the beauty, optimism, darkness, and danger of cities – of American cities; of America – they’re perfect. So perfect they’re almost certainly the first fictional cities you thought of too. So perfect they can be high-tech futurescapes, twisted neon-drenched, fume-belching furnaces, or just broadly realistic interpretations of real places (in Donner’s Superman, Metropolis is literally New York, Statue of Liberty and all). No fake place is as redolent. They are the ur-cities. And, of course, they have the best superheroes.

Coruscant (Star Wars stories, officially from 1997): the retro-futuristic art deco stylings of its skyline is one thing – the hovering platforms in the clouds, the vast curving domes of the buildings – but the fact that the entire planet is one big city is its big talking point. Taking the concept of sprawling metropolis (small “m”) to its most ridiculous degree, it’s a crazy sci-fi concept in a film series built on crazy sci-fi concepts.

Autobot City (The Transformers: The Movie, 1986): the notion of the Autobots – long trapped in their crashed spaceship – building a permanent city on Earth was cool enough. But the fact that it can transform into a bristling battle-station is even better. And its design is cool; a sci-fi version of a medieval fortress, moat and all. Gets extra points because, depending on who you believe, it may turn into an actual Transformer, or just have one sleeping beneath it. Fun fact: in the original script it was even referred to as “Fortress Maximus”!

Springfield (The Simpsons, from 1987): it’s a hell of a town; the schoolyard’s up and the shopping mall’s down. This is the minor controversy, because I don’t know if Springfield is a city or a town; but to hell with it, chances are if you didn’t think of Gotham or Metropolis, you thought of this place. Over thirty-odd years of the series, Springfield has developed into a believable, if exaggerated, township; we know some of these locations like the back of our hand. Moe’s, the Power Plant, the burning tyre yard, Springfield Elementary, yada yada yada. It’s a perfectly realised unreal place.

Minas Tirith, the White City of Gondor (The Lord of the Rings, 1954): technically, I believe that “Gondor” is the realm and the huge walled city. Its seven walled levels climb upwards, providing multiple rings of defence, and looking somewhat like a giant swirl on top of a colossal cupcake. The promontory rock jutting out the front, and the beautiful citadel on its topmost level, make for an incredibly striking and unique design, as well as offering functionality. It’s an amazing, fantastical, incredible location.

Mega-City One (Judge Dredd, 1977): whilst this city does contain New York, it also stretches across pretty much the entire eastern seaboard of the US, so it’s, y’know, big. Possibly the poster child for sprawling post-apocalyptic metropolis, it’s a vast, corrupt, horrible place overseen by a fascist police force. Pick your depressing sci-fi trope, it’s here. Interesting to ponder what it says about the British view of America, really.

Ankh-Morpork (Discworld stories, from 1983): possibly lower down the list than some would have it, because (whispers) I’ve not read much Discworld. But as a place, it’s incredibly well-realised, a brilliant multifaceted fantasy location that feels incredibly real and dynamic and lived-in, and (typical for Pratchett) reflects our own world so perfectly.

Rapture (BioShock, 2007): it’s part-city, part underwater laboratory, yeah? But the notion of a man-made utopia going to pot is a common sci-fi go-to. Here, the distinct areas of the city, and how they reflect the various obsessions and perversions of the pseudo-fascist nutters who ran the place, are beautiful to behold and terrifying to ponder. Plus, as an emergent and interactive bit of design, the location is tremendous to wander around, the retro art design great to behold, the distressed and decaying façade of gaudy old-timey whimsey disturbing but also quaintly amusing.

Zootopia (Zootopia, 2016): cities in talking-animal movies usually just look like real cities but there’ll be dreadful puns, like a burger place called “McDognald’s” or something. Zootopia tries to imagine how all these different animals would co-exist, with fascinating results, including different temperate zones, vast tubes connecting different areas, and buildings of varying sizes that result in our relatively-diminutive leads towering kaiju-like over the proceedings.

San Angeles (Demolition Man, 1993): I was worried this was a bit of a cheat too, as it’s an amalgam of two real cities, but this new metropolis emerged from the ashes of a devastating earthquake so – like Mega-City One – it counts. And for once we have more of a culture than a design that stands out; true, the three seashells and sexy curvy cars are a highlight, but it’s the way this city imposes its morality, the way the future erased 20th century vices, and the way – frankly – everyone speaks that sets this out as a fascinating little town of tomorrow. Be well, San Angeles. Be well.

#top ten #movies #comics #tv #games #fictional cities #made-up towns #urban centres that are dens of lies #springfield

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canonqueercharacters · 2 years ago

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The canon queer character of the day is:

Wisteria from Once on a windswept night, who is a lesbian.

#wisteria once on a windswept night #once on a windswept night #once on a windswept night game #once on a windswept night vn #ebi-hime #melowbee #yuri vn #lesbian characters #canon queer characters #canon lesbians #canon lesbian characters #lesbian

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coneyislandbabey · 2 years ago

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she's got a strange magic. -> w. rojas

WARNINGS: profanities, complete dork warren rojas, partially from warren's POV

SYNOPSIS: Warren is usually cool and confident, but there's something about you that makes him completely nervous. He's desperate to ask you out, and he's desperate to get it right. Written for this request! word count: 1,391

“Eddie, man, please,” Warren asked, standing in front of his best friend with his arms crossed. It was early afternoon, and they were the only two left at the house with nothing to do. Warren had been out on the deck smoking a joint and talking to himself for the last hour, and had gotten nowhere fast. In a rare moment of clarity, he realized he must be high as balls to be asking Eddie to help him like this at all.

“That’s fuckin’ stupid, man, c’mon,” Eddie responded, scoffing. When Warren didn’t move or say anything, Eddie looked him over once more, reassessing. “You seriously want me to pretend to be (y/n) so you can practice asking her out?”

Warren nodded. “You know her as well as I do, so you can be accurate!”

Eddie let out a genuine laugh this time. “You’ve asked out a hundred girls before, man, and you never needed help. What’s the deal?”

Warren dropped down onto the couch and sighed, running a hand down the side of his face. What was the deal, indeed. Eddie was right; he had asked out plenty of girls before. Hell, he’d been rejected by plenty of girls before, girls he knew would reject them before he even asked, and that still didn’t deter him. But you… you were different. You were a bartender at The Whisky, and the whole band had gotten to know you pretty well over the last few months, playing regular gigs at the nightclub. You were blunt, and took shit from no one. You had this hair that was always a little messy, a little windswept, and these alluring eyes that had grabbed hold of him the first time you looked at him and never let him go. Warren had tried flirting with you the first night he met you, hitting you with a line even he knew was way too fucking corny, and you shut him down so fast his head spun. Ever since, he had been harboring a bit of a crush on you. Every night the Six played The Whisky, he would tell himself that that was the night he would ask you out, and in the end he chickened out every time.

“She just– she’s driving me crazy, man,” he said finally. “I’ve never been scared about a chick saying no to me. If they say no, whatever, I can find another chick. But her? Shit, I just need to get it right, you know?”

Eddie fixed him with a deadpan stare. “Because you’re my best friend, man, I will do this for you once. But only once. Never ask me for this shit ever again.”

“If you’re actually helpful right now, I won’t ever need to ask you again,” Warren grinned.

“Alright,” Eddie said, leaning forward in his chair. “Pretend I’m her standing behind the bar. Hit me with your best.”

Warren cleared his throat, trying to imagine himself walking up to you at the bar at the gig later. He’d come over after they played, of course, because it was basically scientifically proven at this point that women found his drum playing sexy. And the whole being sweaty and shiny and amped up thing seemed to work, too.

“Hey, sexy–”

“What the fuck, Warren, no,” Eddie shook his head, a genuinely pained expression on his face. “She already knows you, you’re not picking up some random woman after a show. You can’t fuckin’ start like that.”

Warren groaned, falling back into the couch. “I usually have game! I just want us to be on the same page about that.”

“Look, the best thing you can do is just be fucking normal when you talk to her,” Eddie said. “She likes you on some level already, she always talks to you after shows. Not just to humor you either, man. So just… go for it.”

“Just go for it,” Warren repeated, nodding. “Yeah. Okay. Just go for it.”

***

It had been a good night.

The Six had played, and they were always the highlight of your shift when they were there. Not even because of the music– which was fucking great, as you liked to remind them every time they stopped at the bar for a drink after a gig– but because of the band members themselves. You loved getting to catch up with Karen, who was probably the coolest chick on the Strip, in your opinion, and you loved the way Graham got all timid when you complimented his guitar skills. Billy never got a drink, but he always said hi, which you appreciated. Eddie always challenged you to come up with a new drink to give him, and you did your best to come up with something that tasted closer to diesel fuel every time.

And then there was Warren. He’d certainly made an outstanding first impression, when he sidled up to the bar and fed you the corniest line you have ever heard in your life before the first gig the Six had ever played at The Whisky. You had shut him down, then– you had to after that line, your pride demanded it– but you could appreciate the way he looked nonetheless. You liked that he still came over to talk to you after each show even though you’d rejected him. There wasn’t any of that toxic masculinity, wounded pride bullshit with him. He always had a smile and a funny story for you, always listened to whatever you had to tell him while you half-distractedly made drinks for the other patrons.

This had been a particularly good set, even for the Six, and you beamed as you caught sight of Karen slinking through the crowd toward you, ready to shower her in well-deserved compliments.

“Hey (y/n)! How are you darling?” She asked, leaning over the bar to squeeze you in a quick hug.

“I’m great! Happy I was working during your gig,” you said, grinning at the blonde.

“I’m fairly certain someone checks to make sure you’re working before we agree to play any gigs,” Karen joked.

“Wow, well I’m feeling extra loved. I’ll get you your usual?” Karen nodded, and you started on her usual after-show martini. The two of you chatted while you did so, and Karen gratefully accepted the drink when you were done and bade you goodbye after someone across the room caught her eye.

The bar got extremely busy with people trying to get their drinks while the next band got ready for their set, and for a while you got lost in trying to serve everyone as fast as you could.

“(l/n),” you heard Warren’s voice from behind you, after the mass of people had been served and walked away.

“Rojas,” you acknowledged, turning to see the curly-headed man leaning against the bar, smiling lopsidedly at you. “You want a beer or what?”

“Shirley Temple, actually,” he shrugged, and you snorted in surprise. “How’d we do tonight?”

“Amazing, but you knew that already,” you said, sliding the drink across the bartop to him.

“True, I just wanted to hear you say it,” he nodded, that grin still firmly affixed to his face.

You shrugged. “I would say it a million times over. You’re somethin’ special.”

“The band, or just me?” He was joking, you could tell from the tone of his voice, but there was a note of sincerity under it all as well.

“The band, sure, but you, Rojas, you’re somethin’ special all on your own.”

Warren stayed quiet, a strange look passing over his face as he stared at you. You busied yourself with drying the glasses in front of you, bobbing your head to the music and trying to look unconcerned with whatever was going through his head.

“Would you allow me the privilege of taking you out to dinner?” Your head snapped up to look at him, took in the clear, sincere look on his face. No frills. No corny lines. No overpowering compliments to butter you up. Just Warren, looking at you like he had his heart in his hand.

You put the glass and the rag down and leaned your arms on the bar, a genuine, dorky grin overtaking your features. “Yes, Warren. I’ve been waiting for you to ask me again since the first time you tried it.”

tag list: @eonnyx

#daisy jones and the six #djats #warren rojas #warren rojas x reader #warren rhodes #warren rhodes x reader #eddie roundtree #eddie loving #graham dunne #billy dunne #camila dunne #julia dunne #daisy jones #karen sirko #karen karen

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blossom-hwa · 3 years ago

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these endless summer nights | k.sy

inspired by the song endless summer by cashae. you should give it a listen :) also I am experimenting w new fic layouts so sorry if everything’s a little different atm 💕

Pairing: Hoshi x gender neutral!reader

Genre: fluff, university!au, summer romance!au

Triggers: allusions to sex (nothing graphic), drinking

Word Count: 7k

This summer feels endless, spent in each other’s arms.

Yeonjun (TXT) Ver. | Seventeen Masterlist

You got me wrapped around your finger

Every moment I see you

At the end of the night I’m begging please, don’t go

When you wake to summer sunshine streaming through the slats of your window, the first thing you see is the mop of hair that is decidedly not yours sharing the pillow beneath your head.

“Oh my god.”

The sleeping boy doesn’t awaken, which gives you a moment to process the embarrassment of having spoken to no one at all, as well as relive the memories that brought you to this moment right here.

A party you weren’t supposed to be at but that Seungcheol invited you to anyway. Drinks, music – conversation over a thumping bass with people you had just met, some games where you learned too much and laughed too loud. Someone’s hand on your knee as you spun a bottle, giggling like a teenager, then sharp eyes smiling into yours and that same hand drifting up to touch your cheek as you leaned in, mind abuzz and lips tingling as people cheered in the background –

The boy in your bed right now, soft breaths still fluttering gentle against your skin.

This time, as your eyes drift to the hair spread across your pillow, you don’t say a word. Instead you lift a hand from the rumpled sheets to touch the mop, running your fingers lightly through the soft strands. It was styled last night, you think – artfully windswept like he’d spent the day at the beach nearby, those sharp eyes crinkled into the smile he greeted you with as he laughed under the sun.

“Isn’t it a little weird to be touching a stranger’s hair while they’re sleeping?”

The words that burst from your lips are a lot stronger than oh my god this time.

Dark eyes blink open, already narrowing into that laughing smile you were remembering just moments prior. And as his gaze meets yours under the light spilling through the window, right after you had just started to calm your heartbeat, you have to take a moment to catch your breath again.

“I think I touched a lot more last night,” you finally say. He’s still so close, hasn’t bothered to shift away or move at all from his place against the pillow. If you wanted, you could give in to the lingering urge to press closer, closer, and have those lips against yours once more.

When he laughs, raspy with sleep but bright as the sun, the urge only grows stronger.

“Fair enough.” He shifts, then, letting the blankets slip from his bare shoulders. “So what happens now?”

What happens now, indeed. Not kissing, probably. But you don’t want to part from this sunshine boy either, don’t want to leave behind the messy hair and blooming smile and strong, gentle touch you remember he used with you last night, hands soft and warm against your skin.

Maybe for another one night stand you would’ve showed him the door, bade him a polite goodbye and never thought about him again. But today, as you shrug off the blankets, letting them pool around your waist...

You smile back.

And as he stares up at you with sunlight dancing in his eyes, you dare to believe he finds your grin as beautiful as you find his.

“I’m kind of hungry,” you say. “Breakfast?”

Starry eyes under moonlight

Then you lean in and can I

Take this moment to say this feels so right?

Breakfast does happen. Not in your apartment because you haven’t gone grocery shopping yet and Soonyoung – that’s his name, the name of the boy made of summer sunshine – agrees that he’d probably like something more substantial than cereal, but at the little café down the street. Coffee and pastries, maybe more expensive than you’d have liked, but worth it for the little sparkle that lights in Soonyoung’s eyes when he bites into his chocolate croissant, and worth more for the words that fill the air between you two as the morning passes on.

Lunch happens too, then, after you walk with Soonyoung to his place where you sit on the couch and play with his orange cat, Horangi (“He’s like a little tiger!” “He’s an orange tabby, Soonyoung.”) as he changes in the next room. He pays this time for the street stall food, greasy and delicious and worth every cheap penny, and then there’s a park nearby that Soonyoung mentions and your heart jumps a little to see the hope in his eyes as he looks at you. As though he feels the same way, doesn’t want this – whatever this is – to end.

The sky is blue and the grass is green and Soonyoung shines bright against the sun with every word that falls from his lips, every laugh that echoes in the open air. And when you look at the time that’s passed, hours whiled away since the moment you touched his hair under the morning sunlight, and tell him that you really need to go grocery shopping or your roommate who’s coming back tomorrow might actually kill you, he insists on coming, and then insists on helping you carry the bags back to your home.

“You really didn’t need to come with me to do something as boring as grocery shopping,” you say, dropping your bags on the kitchen floor.

“But I wanted to.” He giggles in this silly little way that makes your heart flutter ridiculously, and that kills any residual argument that might have found its way to your lips.

Putting away groceries turns into making dinner and that turns into the two of you sitting at your kitchen table, sharing from the several dishes laid across the top. Soonyoung’s cheeks bulge like a chipmunk, or a hamster, or just one of those little animals that store food in their cheeks, and when you admit that this is the reason why you’re giggling, he just shrugs. “The food’s really good.”

You may be able to cook, but your simple dishes are absolutely not worth the way he’s shoveling food between his lips. You let him know as much.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” He shoves another spoonful into his mouth. A stray drop of sauce lingers at the corner of his grinning lips. “This is the best thing I’ve ever eaten in my life.”

Your only response is to wipe the sauce away, failing to hide the smile threatening to split across your face.

Soonyoung insists on helping you with the dishes and then spends more time distracting you than actually washing. You splash water at him in retaliation and then your cackles fill the apartment as he screeches, swiping soapy droplets from his face. He sits himself on the counter and cracks jokes until your sides ache with laughter and you can barely hold yourself up to place the last dish away to dry, and when you meet eyes with him again, you can’t help it when your gaze falls to his lips once more.

You walk him out when he admits he needs to go, an early dance practice tomorrow that he can’t miss, and even though you know you couldn’t afford to spend another late morning in his arms because of your own schedule, the urge to grab his hand, ask him to stay, beg him not to leave almost overwhelms your throat when he turns to you under the pale moonlight outside. His eyes look like stars against the dark sky.

“Today was nice,” he says first, voice softer than it’s been the entire day. Moonlight glitters on his face and still he shines as though the sun were still in the sky.

“It was,” you breathe, and that’s all the cue either of you needs to close the gap between your lips.

He kisses like a dream, playful and serious all at once, an arm sliding around your waist to bring you closer, closer as your own hands rise to his cheeks, caressing the soft skin. He’s gentle and he’s strong and he’s everything that urged you to stay with him all day when you would’ve left anyone else that morning without a second thought.

“Text me when you get home,” you say when you pull away for air, hands still gripping those of the boy made of sunshine.

“I will,” he promises. “I’ll see you again.”

It’s so easy to laugh with him, fingers intertwined as though neither of you will ever let go. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Eyes on you, eyes on me

Can’t let go, ‘cause it’s all I need

He’s a dancer, the boy made of stars and sunshine. Which you knew – that first night he’d mentioned an early dance practice he needed to wake up for – but somehow that knowledge still doesn’t quite prepare you for what you find when you show up to his studio a few days later, a response to the text he’d sent earlier that morning (I’m free after my practice today! ends at 5 :3).

Soonyoung, sweat plastering dyed hair to his forehead, limbs like water as he spins in front of the walls of glass and mirrors. The look in his eyes freezes you in place – electrifying, you think, like the dazzling flashes of lightning that strike during the beachfront storms – and you stay there, rooted in place even after the music has long stopped playing and Soonyoung has turned to you, those very same eyes crinkling into the sunshine smile you’ve grown to miss over just these past few days.

“Y/N!” He bounds over, arms outstretched, and you almost fall into them before he suddenly drops them, embarrassment shading his cheeks red. “Oh, uh – I’m pretty sweaty, sorry I forgot –”

“When were you going to tell me you could dance like that?”

Soonyoung’s mouth closes. Opens. Closes again. His ears are red too, now, and if you weren’t still in shock over the last few moments of your life you might’ve been laughing with the affection welling in your chest.

“I – um – let me shower,” he finally says, voice a little higher pitched than you remember it. This time you do laugh, at his voice and the pout that settles on his lips at your first giggle. “I’ll be done soon, promise.”

He comes out ten minutes later, hair damp from the water, and you resist the urge to run your fingers through it as he leads you through the glass studio doors. “You’re really cute when you’re shy,” you say instead, smiling as his cheeks return to the same light shade of pink they were earlier. “I would’ve thought you’d be used to this kind of compliment by now. You’re… that was insane, and I was only there for a minute.”

The sun is still bright at five seventeen pm on this warm summer afternoon, and its rays seem to frame Soonyoung’s pink face like a painting, a living painting of a boy born from sunshine. But no painting could capture the moment when he looks at you, eyes shy and sparkling, and says, “Yeah, but it sounds a little different, coming from you.”

Eyes on you, eyes on me

You find an empty bench in the park, sit there and talk about everything and nothing all at once as the sun plays between the trees. Dappled light falls on Soonyoung’s face and as his hands wave in the air, animating the unfortunate story he wants to tell you about his roommate and some murderous pigeon (he’s my best friend, he says, you’ll love him when you meet him, and it doesn’t escape you that he says when and not if, like he sees you in his future with no room for uncertainty), you can only laugh and nod and stare, unable to pull your eyes from his warmth, a sunflower following the light of his smile.

When the sky starts to turn pink and purple, the remnants of day fading into night, you finally stand from your perches on the bench. Soonyoung takes your hand on the way to the convenience store under his apartment and holds it as he pays for the packets of ramen you tote back to his place. Horangi the cat greets you two at the door and you let go to give him the attention he desires and deserves, but the lingering warmth of Soonyoung’s fingers stays pressed to your palm long after.

There’s no party tonight, but there is convenience store ramen and half a bottle of wine Soonyoung finds in the back of some cabinet. There are no wine glasses – I broke one and my roommate broke the other literally a week later at the exact same time, you’d have thought it was planned – so you use mugs instead.

You laugh at the setup when it’s finished, cheap wine and cheap ramen laid out like a feast. So does Soonyoung, warm giggle brushing against your neck as he sidles up and takes your hand in his again naturally, so naturally, like they belong together.

This time, he doesn’t let go.

Can’t let go, ‘cause it’s all I need

(When you wake up in the morning, legs tangled together beneath rumpled sheets, you’re still holding hands.)

So pull me closer, closer

While we still have time

The last wall between you crashes down with the passing of that day, a wall of casual touch and affection that you didn’t realize you could have built so strongly in such a short time – but Soonyoung is different, different in the way you seem have to known each other, known each other’s bodies and minds even before you met. He knows how to kiss you slow and deep, knows how to hold you close to his chest so that you can feel his heartbeat against your skin. He knows when to tangle your hands together and when to squeeze to let you know I’m here, I’m still here, I’m not going away anytime soon.

Days with him feel like years and seconds all at once. Time passes in scenes, in moments – you’re at the beach in one, splashing each other in the waves, and the next he’s loafing on your apartment couch as type away at the kitchen table nearby. He’s dancing down the street, movements exaggerated for your laughter, and then he has you pressed gently to the wall, lips swallowing the last giggles on the tip of your tongue. One summer night after another, endless – Soonyoung is forever, you come to believe, eternity in the graze of his hands against yours, in the moonlit sparkle of his eyes under the night sky.

And let me hold you, hold you

On these endless summer nights

When he holds you, it feels as though you swim among the stars.

So pull me closer, closer

One hot evening in the middle of July, Soonyoung calls you as you’re leaving the lab to the setting sun outside. “I’m dyeing my hair again.”

“… Now?”

“I’m going white blond,” he continues as though you never said anything. “You wanna help?”

Your feet immediately go to turn in their tracks, heading for the bus stop in the opposite direction. You pause though, wary of the sudden movement – because you like Soonyoung, like him so much, but there’s still that little residual fear that you like him a little too much and that won’t be good for you or him in the long run.

You talked about this with Joshua and Seungcheol, though – told them how you felt about Soonyoung, how you’ve never felt this way for anyone else before, but that you were worried things were moving a little too quickly to be safe. For all their usual joking around they’d listened carefully as you spoke, and when you were finished, they had advice to give.

“Is moving too fast the only thing you’re worried about? Or has he… done anything, I guess, to make you feel uncomfortable about being in a relationship with him?” Joshua had asked.

“I’ve never been uncomfortable with him,” you’d said, and even as the words left your mouth you knew they were true. There have been moments of miscommunication that made things pause, of course, but uncomfortable? Never. “It’s just the speed, I guess.”

“Well, you say you’ve never felt this way about anyone else.” Seungcheol had shrugged. “If you click so well with him, I don’t think it’s fair to use other relationships as a golden standard to hold him by.”

Which was – fair. And true. Their words settled your misgivings and you’d told them as much, gratitude in your smile. Of course, Seungcheol had immediately claimed best man rights when you and Soonyoung inevitably get married or whatever because “I’m the one who invited you to that party so I was basically your matchmaker,” so maybe Joshua was the only one who deserved your gratitude.

So when Soonyoung calls that day, after that initial pause, you let your feet guide the way to the other bus stop and scoff into the phone. “It’s funny how you still think you need to ask.”

While we still have time

Seokmin opens the door when you arrive and immediately points to the bathroom. “Tell him not to make a colossal mess, please.”

You laugh and so does he, because if there’s one thing you both know about Soonyoung, it’s that he does what he wants how he wants, and like the hurricanes that sweep the beach, only rarely can anyone divert the path of destruction that follows. But that’s him, Soonyoung, his power and passion lighting the world, destroying it as it stands only to build it up anew.

“Seokmin says not to make a mess,” you tell him anyway as the two of you cover every open surface in preparation for whatever chaos will follow. “He said please.”

“No promises,” is all Soonyoung says, the summer sunshine grin splitting his face even as the sky grows dark outside.

He’s wearing an old t-shirt, a ragged towel stained in many colors slung around his shoulders. It’s clear he knows what he’s doing by the way he handles the dye, mixing it and then carefully applying it to his hair with the confidence of someone who’s done this sort of thing many times. He obviously doesn’t need you for anything other than cleanup, maybe – especially not with your complete absence of knowledge in the art of hair-dyeing.

“Why’d you ask me to come?” you ask when the dye job is done. His hair is white blond now, just like he said, and he looks as handsome as ever. You really want to kiss him.

Soonyoung blinks. “Were you bored?”

“No!” And you weren’t – watching him dye his hair was an experience in and of itself and you can’t deny your pride in being the first to see him with the new color. “I just… didn’t do anything to help.”

He shrugs, then, cheeks puffing out with his smile. “You didn’t need to help,” he says, going back to wiping down the counter. “I just wanted you here.”

And let me hold you, hold you

You cook for him and Seokmin later that night when your heart has stopped skipping beats and your brain has calmed down because Soonyoung is abysmal in the kitchen and Seokmin has been tired these days. It’s made a little difficult, however, by the way Soonyoung can’t seem to keep his hands off of you for even a second.

“Are you ever going to let go of me?” you ask at some point, amusement rippling across your words as you attempt to maneuver yourself around the tiny kitchen, one Kwon Soonyoung hugging your waist from the back with his nose nuzzled into your neck.

Soonyoung looks up slightly, meeting eyes with you in the faint reflection of a metal pot. His newly dyed hair almost seems to glow in the light overhead sparking off the metal. It seems he embodies the brightness of the universe no matter what, the sun, the moon, the sky, the stars, and in that moment as his smile widens, you know – you know –

You love him.

And maybe if you hadn’t had that talk with your friends, you’d be freaking out right now about love coming too fast and being unsure whether or not this was love or infatuation or something else that would burn too bright and too quickly, leaving you scorched in its wake, but today you only find yourself sinking further into Soonyoung’s hold, smiling back at him in the reflection.

If this is love, it’s more beautiful than anything you thought it could be.

On these endless summer nights

When Soonyoung still doesn’t answer, you nudge him with your shoulder. “Are you?”

His head ducks down, burying his nose into your neck again. “No,” he says, and you can feel the sunshine smile on his face warm against your skin. “Never.”

My god, you think as he sways you side to side, his arms never once falling from their place around your waist. I love you so much.

(Endless summer nights)

(When Soonyoung drops you off at your apartment the next morning, Joshua the token disgusted roommate says he’s never seen a grosser couple than the two of you. Seokmin, despite having sworn that he is the epitome of a sweet summer child, agrees wholeheartedly.)

Skies have never been clearer

Grass has never been greener

And the feeling gets stronger, each and every time

Soonyoung wishes – really fucking wishes – he remembered how you two met. The exact way, not just the generic we saw each other at a party and kissed and one thing led to another and we ended up in the same bed. He wants to remember the moment you met his eyes or he met yours, what he said to you that ended with his hand on your knee as you spun an empty glass bottle in the center of a rowdy circle, what led to the smile on your face as you leaned in to kiss him, the yells of the crowd blurring to background noise in his ears against the soft pressure of your lips.

But there is one thing he does remember, a memory that he will always treasure – waking up to you the morning after, your fingers running soft in his hair, and his first coherent thought being that in your presence, all the colors in the world only seemed brighter.

The sun was spilling through the windows, light spinning gold onto your face and body still half covered in the sheets. He’d said something dumb and you’d freaked, he knows, a litany of curses spewing from your lips, and that only made him laugh because you looked so cute, flustered in this way.

I think I touched a lot more last night, you’d finally replied, raising one eyebrow.

To Soonyoung it felt a little like a challenge. The eyebrow raise was what did it, finished off the perfect retort to whatever his dumb mouth had decided to say. He remembers half of him wanted to egg you on, say something else to prolong this verbal ping pong match, but there was the tiredness still pulling down his eyes and the tipsily hungover headache behind the bridge of his nose and the knowledge that even though he might want to learn you, to know you more than just the blissful last night, he might be overstaying his welcome. One night stands are one thing. Staying after is another.

So he’d laughed, then, almost on reflex, and conceded your point. It was a good one. And he’d asked what would happen next, because that’s all he could think about then – overstaying his welcome, possibly not overstaying his welcome, getting the opportunity to maybe talk with you more than you did last night and preferably not over alcohol spiked drinks, and he was so lost in thought that he almost didn’t catch your mouth opening to speak –

But he saw the smile blooming wide across your face as you slipped from the blankets, the way sunshine turned brighter against your eyes and cheeks.

And in that moment, nothing in the world could have made him look away.

Locked in you and I can’t find

These emotions so can I

Take this moment to say this feels so right

There’s – something about you, Soonyoung thinks, something indescribable, a je ne sais quoi if he’s feeling fancy – a quality to you that seems to breathe life into everything you see, everything you hear, everything you touch. The sky looks bluer, the grass greener when you walk by his side in the park, your laugh spilling music into the air as he tells you about the unfortunate tale of Seokmin and the murderous pigeon.

He is an impulsive person. Comparatively, at least, to most of the people he knows. But even Soonyoung can’t believe how easy it is to talk to you, to laugh with you, how much he wants to stay by your side despite only having known you for a matter of days – it’s moving fast, even for him.

He tells Seokmin this on a day you aren’t over. His roommate, his best friend just looks at him and asks him one question. “Do you think it’s a bad thing?”

He pauses. Thinks. Horangi the cat purrs in his arms, and idly Soonyoung recalls how much his cat loves you too.

“I don’t think it’s bad,” he finally says, long and slow. “I’ve just never felt this way about someone before.”

Books speak of soulmates, of red threads connecting one part of a soul to another, of birthmarks left by a past love’s kiss, predestined fate pulling lovers together slowly, surely. Soonyoung knows it well, has seen it mirrored in so many dances and stories, has felt the love expressed by all sides of the equation in the presence of a truly happy couple or throuple or anything beyond or in between. He knows it. Has felt it.

But only now does he believe it.

You are the sun, perhaps, and Soonyoung a planet pulled into your orbit by a brilliant smile accompanied by an outstretched hand so warm with gentle light that he couldn’t possibly refuse. There’s no way he could tug himself away.

Nor does he think he’ll ever want to.

“It’s cheesy to say,” he says, every word weighing heavily on his lips. “But if soulmates exist, something tells me Y/N would be mine.”

There’s a mildly disgusted look on Seokmin’s face that mixes strangely with the oddly genuine expression in his eyes. But despite the embarrassment beginning to tint Soonyoung’s cheeks pink and his ears red –

Something in him rings certain that his words are true.

Eyes on you, eyes on me

Can’t let go, ‘cause it’s all I need

He knows it, knows that it’s love, this one night stand turned summer fling that will turn hopefully into something more – he knows it’s love when he shows up to your university still sweaty after dance practice to listen to a talk you’re giving about something he has no chance of understanding.

You’d mentioned it offhand on the way to your apartment, groceries laden on your arms and his. A little presentation on the work you’ve done so far this summer, barely ten minutes in the entire conference but still something to acknowledge what you’ve managed to complete. “It’s an opportunity, anyway,” you’d said, but even then Soonyoung could tell by the little tremble in your words just how much those ten minutes meant to you.

“Can I come?”

The words had left him on reflex, and only when you looked at him strangely did he realize what he’d said. And by then it was too late to take it back, but he didn’t want to, even when you admitted that all the science and math talk might honestly bore him to sleep. “What day is it?” he’d asked, and put the event into his calendar (right after a dance practice, but that would be fine) before helping you carry the groceries up to your apartment. “I’ll be there.”

Sweat still trickles down the side of Soonyoung’s face by the time he finds the university building and then the appropriate room. He gets a strange look from a security guard and several well-dressed adults who must be conference attendees, but he ignores them as he slides into a seat in the back. You stand at the podium, looking oddly relaxed for how jittery you were yesterday when he saw you, and he remembers the reassurance he’d tried to give before he dropped you off at home.

This is your work. You know it better than anyone ever will. You’ve done everything you can to get this far, and this is your moment to shine. Take it and run with it.

People say that science and the arts couldn’t be more different, one logical and rational and the other fueled by the imagination. But as Soonyoung watches you speak at the front of the room, not a waver in your voice as you look steadily out at the crowd, all he can think is that this is, at its barest bones, a performance. A culmination of your work presented to a crowd of those who understand, just like Soonyoung’s recitals on stages in front of thousands.

Soonyoung doesn’t understand your talk. Well – there are parts he gets, things that ring a few bells from high school and college gen-ed courses that he’d long forgotten until now. But even though you explain things well, this is a performance prepared for experts in your field, not laypeople like him, just like how his auditions are tailored to things that the judges will understand but not the general public. By all counts, you should’ve been right – coming here should have bored him to pieces.

But your eyes glow with a low, steady flame Soonyoung hasn’t seen before, embers rising from ashes as your voice brims with fire, passion in every perfectly-enunciated word, and he is – electrified, probably, that’s the only word that could even hope to encompass how he feels in this chair, listening to you speak.

That’s it, he realizes when you’ve finished talking, applause filling the room as you smile at the crowd. That’s it. Love – listening to your passions even though he doesn’t understand, falling for the fire in your voice and the determination in your eyes as you calmly answer question after question. This is love, built and grown and carefully tended over the course of these endless summer months –

You step off the stage to another round of applause, and the only thought echoing through Soonyoung’s brain is I love you.

Eyes on you, eyes on me

He finds you in the crowd after the last speaker has finished, surrounded by a few other people who look far more professional than he does. You nod and laugh to one of them, ask something to another and promise something else to a third –

Then you see him, and the way your face lights up could rival all the stars in the galaxy.

Soonyoung smiles, shaking his head slightly – don’t let me interrupt, keep talking to who you need to – and it looks like you understand because you go back to your conversation, but as soon as the last person slips into the crowd you turn to him, walking over with sure, giddy steps.

“You came!” you say, a breathless smile swept wide across your lips. “Did you see me?”

“Of course,” Soonyoung manages to answer around all the emotion still pressing tight against his heart. And as you wrap your arms around him and he pulls you as close as he can into his chest, all he can think is –

Can’t let go, ‘cause it’s all I need

Even in a room of thousands, I would still only to see you.

So pull me closer, closer

While we still have time

Soonyoung doesn’t usually wake up before you, a result of combining his preference for sleeping in as well as the fact that his schedule generally starts later than yours. Sometimes, though, like on this early August morning, his eyes blink open before dawn. And while that’s usually a curse because Soonyoung very much values his sleep, if he happens to be in the same bed as you when the dawn wakes him, he’ll take it as luck, good luck in this case.

He teased you the first morning you woke up together, said something about watching him and touching his hair while he was still asleep. But he never meant it, really – or at least he definitely doesn’t mean it now. Because being able to pull you close in your slumber and feel your breath flutter peacefully against his skin is the greatest gift the world could have given him in return for the indignity of waking up early.

You shift a little in his arms and Soonyoung can tell you’re about to wake up by the way your eyes flutter once, twice, before you curl into him a little more. “Isn’t it a little weird to be watching a stranger while they sleep?” you mutter, eyes still closed.

Soonyoung pouts exaggeratedly as you blink yourself awake, but he knowingly destroys the effect by bringing you closer. “After all this time, how could you say we’re still strangers?”

And let me hold you, hold you

On these endless summer nights

A sleepy little laugh that’s more of a sigh falls from your lips that Soonyoung would kiss if you weren’t so particular about morning mouth. “No,” you admit, snuggling into his chest. “I think we’re a lot more than that, now.”

Soonyoung kisses the top of your head. “I’m glad you think so too.”

So pull me closer, closer

You take a beach trip one weekend when the sun shines hot and bright and not a cloud dots the blue, blue sky. Jun screams and Joshua looks on in disgust and Seokmin yells as you rub sunscreen into Soonyoung’s back, but Soonyoung can only laugh as you stick your tongue out at everyone who dares mock the two of you and threaten to throw several handfuls of sand at them.

“And put on sunscreen!” you yell, waving the bottle menacingly through the air. “Unless you want to get burned to high hell, by the sun and by me!”

God, he loves you so much.

While we still have time

The sun’s too hot so Soonyoung sprints into the water the minute you’re done with his back, screeching as the sand burns his feet. You follow behind, apparently, and Soonyoung only realizes that you’re here too when you plunge into the ocean with a splash that sends water flying all over him.

Spewing saltwater, Soonyoung turns around to face your doubled-over figure shaking with laughter. Which is a good thing, because you don’t notice him coming towards you until it’s too late and both of you have toppled into the water.

There might be tears in Soonyoung’s eyes when he comes back up – between the saltwater and the sun, he’s not sure. What he is sure of, though, is that you’ve never looked more beautiful than now, surrounded by the sparkling blue ocean and the shining hot sun, cackling in his arms.

And let me hold you, hold you

You build a bonfire, because Jeonghan likes arson and Seungcheol is generally willing indulge his boyfriend’s criminal tendencies in a controlled, contained sort of way, and also because it’s the typical sort of thing to do at the beach even if you aren’t teenagers anymore. As the sun sets on the ocean, you lean your head on Soonyoung’s shoulder with a little sigh. Firelight glows off your face.

Soonyoung turns around to meet your eyes with his. Then, in full view of all the single people around and in full disregard of their groans, he decides to meet your lips too.

On these endless summer nights

(“Mm, salty,” he says, pulling away.

You slap his shoulder. “You’re disgusting. Why would you say that?”)

(Endless summer nights)

(Soonyoung grins. “And yet you’re still here, letting me be disgusting to you.”)

(Endless summer nights)

(“Yeah.” You lean against him again, rolling your eyes as the fading sunlight flickers across your smile. “I guess I am.”)

Don’t think I’ll feel this way

Again when the night is done

Summer always ends. Soonyoung knows this. Time always flows no matter how static it seems, but as August winds to a close, he still can’t help but feel a little shocked. Where did the time go from the start of June and the party where he met you, all the way until now at the end of August as you sit on a bench by the beach, holding hands as the sun begins its descent beneath the waves? It’s as though the last three months were no longer than a second spent in your arms.

His head rests on your shoulder, your hand raised and combing through his hair. A comfortable silence has filled the air and Soonyoung can feel sleepiness settling over him in waves the longer he sits there, basking against your side.

“Summer’s almost over,” you say, almost to yourself. If Soonyoung wasn’t so close, he might not even have heard you.

“Mm.” He opens his eyes, turns just enough to look up at you. “Back to school.”

“Ugh.” You both laugh, but this time Soonyoung feels a little uncertainty ripple through the air where only comfortable silence had reigned prior. Clear as day, he sees the question hanging invisible in front of you as the sun sinks further behind the ocean.

What does that mean for us?

“I think this summer was the best one of my life,” Soonyoung admits quietly. Your eyes shift downward to meet his, still sparkling even in the fading light. “And I can’t deny it was because of you.”

Slowly, the hand on his head comes down. You take his fingers between yours, lacing them gently together. “I agree.”

Soonyoung sits up, never once breaking contact with your hands or your eyes. You look back steadily, softly, like you love him as much as he loves you. Something he’s almost certain might be true.

Only that hope keeps him from bailing right then and there, cracking a joke and leaving this charged atmosphere behind.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is…” He swallows hard, forces himself to keep meeting your gaze. “This wasn’t just a summer fling for me. If it’s okay with you, I don’t want this to end.”

The summer never ends with you, oh it’s just begun

When Soonyoung says this to you, his eyes earnest against the setting sun, you have to remind yourself that this is real. That the summer wasn’t a dream, that Soonyoung wasn’t a dream, that everything he just said to you was – it was real. It was from him. It was true.

It wasn’t just wishful thinking that he felt the same way as you.

With this realization bursting warm in your heart, you curl your fingers into his. Look up into starry eyes.

And smile.

“What do you mean, end?” you say, and the grin blooming across Soonyoung’s face rivals all the beauty of the sun and the stars and the moon combined. “We’re just getting started.”

So pull me closer, closer

While we still have time

You go back to your place after and since Joshua’s out for the night, Soonyoung takes the opportunity to cuddle you full and well on the couch as a white noise movie plays in the background. You can’t stay long – both of you have things to do early tomorrow – but where he might once have felt a sense of urgency with the knowledge of the ending summer looming in the near distance, Soonyoung finds it a little easier to relax this time.

You have all the time in the world, now.

When the movie is over, you poke his side. “Up.”

He whines. “Don’t wanna.”

You poke more insistently. “Up.”

In the end Soonyoung stands, but only after he essentially forces you to pull him up off the couch and then off the floor. You’re smiling, though, a laugh barely repressed in your throat, and Soonyoung can see it very well as he kisses you once more.

He pulls back to look into eyes that hold a galaxy of stars, and in that moment, the words build up and spill out before he can even think to take them back.

“I love you.”

For a moment, you just blink. Soonyoung feels himself starting to panic – it wasn’t planned, it wasn’t discussed, maybe he said it too soon because even though you did agree that you wanted this, maybe you weren’t ready for that sort of declaration just yet –

“What a coincidence.” You raise a hand to his cheek as a slow smile spreads across your face. “I love you too.”

And let me hold you, hold you

On these endless summer nights (on these endless summer nights)

(You walk him out of the apartment after that, but you linger on the street. Soonyoung doesn’t leave either, just stands there with your hands in his even as the moon begins to rise higher in the sky.

“Text me when you get home,” you finally say, an echo of that second night.

Soonyoung pauses. Squints. “What do you mean?” he asks, looking at you with those soft, moonlit eyes. “I’m with you.”

His fingers squeeze yours, summer memories glittering in his smile.

“That means I’m already home.”)

If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

(1 reblog = 1 prayer for Seokmin and his pigeon problem. no I will not elaborate)

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