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hey hey, Grace :D I have a song rec! 'Strawberry Sunscreen' by Lostboycrow (and the rework with AVIV)!
it's difficult to explain but it reminded me of your writing style in a way? especially your Saeyoung fics. also it's just quite a nice vibe :)
lemme know what you think of it!
Hi?!? Omg I feel like you probably sent this a long time ago?! Sorry as usual I forgot to be here for a few months whoops π
AW WAIT THIS SONG IS RLY CUUUUUUTE. Omg thank you for the rec and thank you for saying it reminds you of my writing styleβthat's, like, a huge compliment?!
To me, this song feels like springtime and flirting and teasing, like it's got a sort of confident charming alluring vibe that is VERY appealing to me, and it's also super bright and simultaneously kind of old-fashioned? And happy/poppy/also a little sexy?
THANK YOU for sharing this delicious vibey song with me and omg hello I hope you're well ahh β€οΈ
She sits in his sky blue car and watches the sun set through the windshield and smells amber and honey on the late autumn air.
She wants to say I've missed you or the city looks pretty tonight or when will you take me home.
She's missed him since midnight in the hospital when she raised her voice at him for the first time, furious over the plans he made while she was sleeping. She's missed him from the other side of the city while he hid in his huge house, hoping he could heal his other half. She's missed him from the other side of the world without knowing he was the one she was waiting forβmissed him from the other side of the universe without realizing there was a version of her that could have him.
"I'm sorry," Saeyoung says, staring straight into the sun as he drivesβaway from the city, toward the home she still hasn't seen.
"You did the only thing you know how to do," she says. She isn't angry anymore.
"Run away?"
"Take care of him."
His fingers worry the thread of the steering wheel. A week ago, he would've reached for her hand.
"Stop the car," she says. "Idiot."
He screeches to a halt. There's no one out here, and the rural roads remind her of the time they spent chasing the stars, hunting for family, for faith, for their future.
"For a smart guy, I've been called that a lot lately."
Eunji pushes open the door and he follows her slowly, exhaustion in his slouched shoulders, his tense jaw, his hesitant footsteps.
She wants to say I love you or wherever you are, I'll go too.
He waits patiently. It drives her crazy.
She sprints around the car and throws herself haphazardly into his arms.
He giggles, gaze softening, and she sighs and watches the setting sun shine in his eyes.
It's too warm out. He glows golden.
And there are no words for it: not for the way she loves him or the way he holds herβnot for the time that sped and crawled and convalesced, twisting itself into knots, all so that she could be here.
She sits in his sky blue car and watches the sun set through the windshield and smells amber and honey on the late autumn air.
She wants to say I've missed you or the city looks pretty tonight or when will you take me home.
She's missed him since midnight in the hospital when she raised her voice at him for the first time, furious over the plans he made while she was sleeping. She's missed him from the other side of the city while he hid in his huge house, hoping he could heal his other half. She's missed him from the other side of the world without knowing he was the one she was waiting forβmissed him from the other side of the universe without realizing there was a version of her that could have him.
"I'm sorry," Saeyoung says, staring straight into the sun as he drivesβaway from the city, toward the home she still hasn't seen.
"You did the only thing you know how to do," she says. She isn't angry anymore.
"Run away?"
"Take care of him."
His fingers worry the thread of the steering wheel. A week ago, he would've reached for her hand.
"Stop the car," she says. "Idiot."
He screeches to a halt. There's no one out here, and the rural roads remind her of the time they spent chasing the stars, hunting for family, for faith, for their future.
"For a smart guy, I've been called that a lot lately."
Eunji pushes open the door and he follows her slowly, exhaustion in his slouched shoulders, his tense jaw, his hesitant footsteps.
She wants to say I love you or wherever you are, I'll go too.
He waits patiently. It drives her crazy.
She sprints around the car and throws herself haphazardly into his arms.
He giggles, gaze softening, and she sighs and watches the setting sun shine in his eyes.
It's too warm out. He glows golden.
And there are no words for it: not for the way she loves him or the way he holds herβnot for the time that sped and crawled and convalesced, twisting itself into knots, all so that she could be here.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
β Live Streamingβ Interactive Chatβ Private Showsβ HD Qualityβ Free Actions
Free to watch β’ No registration required β’ HD streaming
Light filters through the windows of her dance studio like springtime in her childhood home: warm, symmetrical squares of sunlight streaming through the curtains, singing her name, beckoning her outdoors. It's the tender scent of seasons changing, the whisper of warmer days to come.
This is a soft place. He made it that way for her.
"Still working, starshine?"
Saeyoung slips into place behind her, arms snaking around her waist, smiling lips brushing her shoulder. The flannel shirt she bought him signifies the months that have passed since he hid in his hoodie, headphones over his ears, eyes bathed in blue light, head in outer space, heart in her hands.
She is longer surprised by the silent way he sneaks up on her.
"I had no idea you were here."
He scans her screen, running one finger experimentally across her keyboard, never quite touching the keys.
"I don't know much about jobs other than the one I have," he says, pausing for a moment before correcting himself quietly: "had." Eunji smiles, leaning back against his chest, listening to his heart. "I did imagine dancers did a lot more dancing," he continues thoughtfully, "and a lot less typing."
She laughs, delighted whenever her brilliant boyfriend is stumped by the intricacies of her life.
"Everything's in English," she says, sighing. "My resume, my website, all of my information. It's useless if I want to work here."
Saeyoung stands taller behind her, peering over her shoulder more intently now.
"You want me to do it?" he asks. "I could translate it faster."
"I'm better at English than you are," she says. It's the only thing she has over him.
"And I'm better at Korean," he teases. "And probably translating too."
For some reason, this frustrates her.
"I'm working, baby. Just let meβokay?"
Saeyoung goes quiet and she forces herself to focus. She can't remember the Korean words for "immersive" or "improvisation."
She deletes the whole line. His arms tighten around her waist.
"Thank you," he whispers. His breath dusts her cheek and her fingers freeze over the keys. It's taken him ages to learn to say thank you instead of I'm sorry. "It's like you're starting all over for my sake."
He's right, and he isn't. He's smart, and he's got it all wrong.
"I wanted to," she tells him, giving up on the resume, twisting so she can stare straight into his sharp eyes. "You gave me a reason."
He slips his hands into the pockets of her overalls and kisses her once, swiftly, softly.
"Don't work so hard," he says. She laughs, loud and raucous like a child, because she's said those same words to him hundreds of times.
The past is a world away, text she wrote when she didn't know who she was becoming, sun on her skin, fragments of songs she barely remembers. Her future is fingers on keys and bright white windows, socks on the marley floor, sentences woven from words in two languages, the boy at her side.
listen lots changes from one timeline to the next, but no matter how alternate the universe, eunji will always be charmed, delighted, and intimated when Lu teases her about being a teeny tiny pick-up-able, hidden-away-on-a-shelf, weird little squirrel girl
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
β Live Streamingβ Interactive Chatβ Private Showsβ HD Qualityβ Free Actions
Free to watch β’ No registration required β’ HD streaming
Light filters through the windows of her dance studio like springtime in her childhood home: warm, symmetrical squares of sunlight streaming through the curtains, singing her name, beckoning her outdoors. It's the tender scent of seasons changing, the whisper of warmer days to come.
This is a soft place. He made it that way for her.
"Still working, starshine?"
Saeyoung slips into place behind her, arms snaking around her waist, smiling lips brushing her shoulder. The flannel shirt she bought him signifies the months that have passed since he hid in his hoodie, headphones over his ears, eyes bathed in blue light, head in outer space, heart in her hands.
She is longer surprised by the silent way he sneaks up on her.
"I had no idea you were here."
He scans her screen, running one finger experimentally across her keyboard, never quite touching the keys.
"I don't know much about jobs other than the one I have," he says, pausing for a moment before correcting himself quietly: "had." Eunji smiles, leaning back against his chest, listening to his heart. "I did imagine dancers did a lot more dancing," he continues thoughtfully, "and a lot less typing."
She laughs, delighted whenever her brilliant boyfriend is stumped by the intricacies of her life.
"Everything's in English," she says, sighing. "My resume, my website, all of my information. It's useless if I want to work here."
Saeyoung stands taller behind her, peering over her shoulder more intently now.
"You want me to do it?" he asks. "I could translate it faster."
"I'm better at English than you are," she says. It's the only thing she has over him.
"And I'm better at Korean," he teases. "And probably translating too."
For some reason, this frustrates her.
"I'm working, baby. Just let meβokay?"
Saeyoung goes quiet and she forces herself to focus. She can't remember the Korean words for "immersive" or "improvisation."
She deletes the whole line. His arms tighten around her waist.
"Thank you," he whispers. His breath dusts her cheek and her fingers freeze over the keys. It's taken him ages to learn to say thank you instead of I'm sorry. "It's like you're starting all over for my sake."
He's right, and he isn't. He's smart, and he's got it all wrong.
"I wanted to," she tells him, giving up on the resume, twisting so she can stare straight into his sharp eyes. "You gave me a reason."
He slips his hands into the pockets of her overalls and kisses her once, swiftly, softly.
"Don't work so hard," he says. She laughs, loud and raucous like a child, because she's said those same words to him hundreds of times.
The past is a world away, text she wrote when she didn't know who she was becoming, sun on her skin, fragments of songs she barely remembers. Her future is fingers on keys and bright white windows, socks on the marley floor, sentences woven from words in two languages, the boy at her side.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
β Live Streamingβ Interactive Chatβ Private Showsβ HD Qualityβ Free Actions
Free to watch β’ No registration required β’ HD streaming
Light filters through the windows of her dance studio like springtime in her childhood home: warm, symmetrical squares of sunlight streaming through the curtains, singing her name, beckoning her outdoors. It's the tender scent of seasons changing, the whisper of warmer days to come.
This is a soft place. He made it that way for her.
"Still working, starshine?"
Saeyoung slips into place behind her, arms snaking around her waist, smiling lips brushing her shoulder. The flannel shirt she bought him signifies the months that have passed since he hid in his hoodie, headphones over his ears, eyes bathed in blue light, head in outer space, heart in her hands.
She is longer surprised by the silent way he sneaks up on her.
"I had no idea you were here."
He scans her screen, running one finger experimentally across her keyboard, never quite touching the keys.
"I don't know much about jobs other than the one I have," he says, pausing for a moment before correcting himself quietly: "had." Eunji smiles, leaning back against his chest, listening to his heart. "I did imagine dancers did a lot more dancing," he continues thoughtfully, "and a lot less typing."
She laughs, delighted whenever her brilliant boyfriend is stumped by the intricacies of her life.
"Everything's in English," she says, sighing. "My resume, my website, all of my information. It's useless if I want to work here."
Saeyoung stands taller behind her, peering over her shoulder more intently now.
"You want me to do it?" he asks. "I could translate it faster."
"I'm better at English than you are," she says. It's the only thing she has over him.
"And I'm better at Korean," he teases. "And probably translating too."
For some reason, this frustrates her.
"I'm working, baby. Just let meβokay?"
Saeyoung goes quiet and she forces herself to focus. She can't remember the Korean words for "immersive" or "improvisation."
She deletes the whole line. His arms tighten around her waist.
"Thank you," he whispers. His breath dusts her cheek and her fingers freeze over the keys. It's taken him ages to learn to say thank you instead of I'm sorry. "It's like you're starting all over for my sake."
He's right, and he isn't. He's smart, and he's got it all wrong.
"I wanted to," she tells him, giving up on the resume, twisting so she can stare straight into his sharp eyes. "You gave me a reason."
He slips his hands into the pockets of her overalls and kisses her once, swiftly, softly.
"Don't work so hard," he says. She laughs, loud and raucous like a child, because she's said those same words to him hundreds of times.
The past is a world away, text she wrote when she didn't know who she was becoming, sun on her skin, fragments of songs she barely remembers. Her future is fingers on keys and bright white windows, socks on the marley floor, sentences woven from words in two languages, the boy at her side.
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