svt write night

pairing — seungkwan/reader

genre — fluff, based on prompt 4 by @svtwritenight: “open the nearest book to page 52, find the 4th word in the 2nd sentence. write something with it.”

book: breakfast at tiffany’s, truman capote. word: someone.

w.c. — 492

warnings — none

// b.sk. // 0.5k //

response to @svtwritenight​‘s prompt 08: go to this website and click “go”. Use your result as the backdrop for a scene.

-

His smile is irreplaceable, you deduce, and judging by the way the rising sun shines flattering light across his high cheekbones she must agree with you.

Tiny kernels of cream sand stick to the skin of your dampened feet and you work diligently against the opposing force of their countless friends while making your way to where Seungkwan watches you from ahead. Salty breezes disorganize the silken locks of his chestnut hair and form playful waves with the thin material of his loose tee. The way in which endearing wrinkles frame his nose while he awaits you is somehow dreamlike and distracts from the gravel catching under your toenails. He flails his outstretched hand, gesturing for you to come quicker.

“Hurry, you slow ass.”

You scoff with fabricated distaste. “I’m coming, chill.”

“Ahh,” he sighs, turning away and proceeding with his hasty trek along the edge of the water.

You huff through a smile, willingly enchanted to follow Seungkwan’s frame that is intriguingly accentuated against the backdrop of a shyly blue sky. A tug at your heart pulls you to him, to the contagious giggles he drops for you to catch while checking how far behind you still lag. His fidgety fingers dance in the wind, alluringly tempting you to weave them with your own and feel their warmth against the skin of your hand.

“Seungkwan, wait up!”

Said man skips around to face you, walking backwards as a goading tongue pokes out of his mouth before he proceeds chasing his destination, calm waves rolling in from the sea and nearly dampening the sand beneath his feet. As the aching muscles in your legs will you forward, you realize that you are ignorant to where Seungkwan is taking you, unbothered by the notion.

Until an unsettling cry of your name sounds from behind you.

Your bones quiver as your pace slows, a weighty shiver coating your nerves with ice and you warily turn your head to find.

You freeze.

Seungkwan stares back at you, eyes round with palpable fear. His posture is stiff and unnerved, shirt soiled with dark stains of something you do not wish to be enlightened of. He visible shakes in his unstable stance, mouth agape with audible gasps of air.

Cold knots twist in the pit of your stomach.

“Suh-Seungkwan…?”

His chest heaves as he readies words to speak before he suddenly no longer stands there, nothing but sand left behind.

Your heartbeats stampede, toes curling beneath wobbly knees and the salt from the sea becomes nauseating over your tongue.

Warily, you turn back around, windpipe tightening to a close as your eyes find Seungkwan cheerily jogging along the border of the ocean.

Before you can comprehend it, your feet resume walking.

Quivering breaths slip past your lips as you proceed forward, shoulders tense on either side of your neck. Seungkwan faces you again, calling something that falls mute on your ringing ears, a heavy pulse echoing between the walls of your skull.

Responce to @svtwritenight​ Prompt 07: Write something in which someone wins something they do not want.

Warnings: Blood, violence, death. 

@svtwritenight

tuesday, june 18, 1820

this felt too familiar to minghao. he couldn’t find the word for it, but he assumed it was de javu. 

he was going to meet jun for the first time. he wasn’t sure why, but when jun asked through the sweet letter what date he’d like to meet, it was like he wasn’t allowed to pick another date than june 18th. 

there was a river that separated the property of each family. 

minghao let his hand fall into the water as he continued to wait. he had to make sure he chose a shaded spot, so potential guards of the wen’s family wouldn’t see him. 

“minghao!” the said boy looked around for the caller of his name. eventually, his eyes landed on who he presumed to be junhui. 

he smiled widely, and tried to reach over the river to hug him. 

@svtwritenight

seungkwan loved picking up his daughter from preschool everyday. eunae was his pride and joy, his angel, everything that made his life good. 

while waiting for the teachers to release their children, seungkwan would often talk to one of the other fathers who were scolded by their wife to pick them up because she was too busy making money. beomseok would often be tapping his foot near the door and sighing. when seungkwan would walk in, he would make a witty comment, which would then kick-start their conversation. 

today, however, beomseok wasn’t there. in his place, was jihoon, one of seungkwan’s higher classmen friends from highschool. for some reason, he felt nervous, like jihoon was about to attack him. 

seungkwan didn’t say anything to jihoon. he didn’t think jihoon even saw him. 

// j.ww. // 0.4k //

response to @svtwritenight​‘s prompt 06: character A needs to confess something to character B. Write the scene without using abstractions.

-

Every time you catch your leg restlessly bouncing beneath the table and will it to still, it isn’t long before that exact process occurs again.

Wonwoo’s glasses slide down the sharp bridge of his nose in a similarly repetitive fashion and while seesawing a pencil with your fingers you wonder whether his regular act of pushing them back up is subconscious. Nimble fingers poke out of the large sleeves of his sweater to turn a page in his textbook, reminding you of how long ago you last turned a page in your own, or even completed reading a full sentence. Itchy teeth fidget with the flesh of your lower lip, leaving a reddened surface in their wake.

Your leg is bouncing again, until it stops.

You ready yourself to speak but are prevented by a sudden thickness in your throat and your eyebrows furrow. A taut fist squeezes your pencil while the other lies clutched over your lap, a consistently rapid heartbeat pulsating within your chest. Wonwoo’s eyes remain fixed on his schoolwork, shielded from noticing your leg that bounces under the table. It stops.

A hesitant hand covers your mouth as you clear your throat.

“Wonwoo.”

His eyes glancing up at you causes your heart to jump and the saliva you force down your throat is dense. Hot blood rises along your neck and finds purchase beneath the skin covering your cheeks, your leg bouncing briskly. It keeps bouncing.

Wonwoo hums, stare locked with yours and your chest heaves in a steady rhythm.

“Uh,” you begin, voice wavering and you keep your own fingers from pinching yourself as a result. Still reddened lips form a stiff line before proceeding. “I-…”

Wonwoo keeps still and your tongue curls around another thick swallow. One deep breath in, one heavy sigh out.

“I’m the friend Seungkwan keeps saying has a-a crush on you.”

The man opposite you blinks once, twice, thrice. Surrounding sounds suggesting the company of human life become white noise and hurried pounding bounces in your ears. Your lungs freeze as the next breath they will take is put on hold and crescents form in the skin of your palms by curled fingers with solid nails.

Wonwoo looks back down before he smiles, grin stretching generously from one cheek to the other, hand fluid as it jots something down in his notebook.

“I know,” his low voice affirms without meeting your wide-eyed stare.

// k.sy. // 0.5k //

response to @svtwritenight‘s prompt 04: open the nearest book to page 52, find the 4th word in the 2nd sentence. Write something with it.

book — i, robot by isaac asimov. word — death.

-

Falling.

Your lungs welcome water, swell with liquid ice, form burning cracks as they overfill and threaten to snap your ribs and explode beneath your skin, soak your insides in frozen oceans. They shrink and shrivel while stolen of air, drying into crisp bags that would shatter upon touch, turn into desiccated gravel belonging in barren wastelands. They pulsate in waves of unmatched pain, drowning, choking, gagging on the consequences of criminal sin and imperishable infatuation. The darkest of depths inhale you, fail to provoke the uncertainty and repentance it is meant to.

Floating.

Tingles revive the toes and fingers at the tips of your limbs, now weightless while numb to the aches that reluctantly subside. Ascending, you think you might be, a serene calm encasing you with its clouds of soft fog. Your heart is whole and full, not beating. Your blood is red and warm, not streaming. Your lungs are solid and sound, not breathing.

Resting.

Eyes snapping open, you are met with the rich blue of a midday’s sky, sunshine filtered by the threads of your lashes as your hands and feet are teased by straws of grass dancing with the wind. Something white frames your vision and as you stiffly push yourself upward until you are sitting, you find yourself cradled by a field of mums. A foreign yet homely piece of ivory fabric hangs over your frame, soft against your skin and airy beneath every breeze that combs through your hair. Your fingers curl into the meadow, unbothered by the dirt crammed snugly under your nails.

You spot him then, standing a short distance away, charcoal hair moving pliantly with the air, profile familiar before the bright sky and hips narrow under alabaster pants that compliment his leisurely buttoned shirt. A dove has found purchase on his finger, fluttering its silken feathers while seemingly keeping the man company, meeting his soft smile with a pointy beak and round eyes. Phantasmic warmth blossoms in your hushed chest.

The dove’s neb turns to you and soon after Soonyoung’s does too, a chimeric breath catching in your throat. His slanted eyes hesitate little before forming crescents, cheeks swelling beneath an unabashed grin and rendering him ignorant to his friend broadening its wings and flying away. The smile his face wears is soon mirrored across your own and the muscles within your legs itch to stand and run in his direction. So they do.

You stumble happily on grass and flowers, cheeks rosy while tight fists hold your dress as you skip and hop to meet Soonyoung’s slow steps, stopping just short of where he does too and imagining your lungs heaving with heavy breaths. Another step, you take and conceive the corners of your mouth to be aching from widening too far, mere inches now separating Soonyoung’s heart from yours.

“Hi,” he says to you.

“Hi,” you say to him too.

“I’ve been waiting,” he tells you what you already know, yet fancied butterflies twirl inside your belly nonetheless.

“Me too,” you confirm and if possible, Soonyoung’s grin only grows.

He takes your hand and laces his fingers with yours, finally grounding you to what you have restlessly yearned for and where you have always belonged.

@svtwritenight’s prompt 2:  character A has unexpectedly run into character B. Write something that answers these questions: where are they, and why is it surprising to find B there?

characters: wonwoo x the vigilante

words: 465

Although the power outage lasts a mere few minutes, Wonwoo believes it to be good enough a reason to fire a few people; one person for every minute of his time wasted. Entering his office, Wonwoo tosses his blazer onto the leather couch. His bored expression, which the public has coined as his usual RBF (read resting-billionaire/bastard-face), is momentarily replaced with a quizzical one as he notices the unwelcome presence of another in the room. As if he needed another headache.

“What do you want?”

“No introductions?” a voice responds from behind Wonwoo’s desk.

“I assume you know who I am. Do I need to know who you are?”

The back of the leather office chair turns to reveal the intruder. Wonwoo’s eyes scan over the figure who has made themself comfortable in his office; stark platinum hair behind an unfamiliar, black mask. Either an eccentric robber or another wannabe hero, Wonwoo concludes.

“Maybe one day,”

The masked figure stands up from the office chair revealing their lithe frame clothed in black Lycra; a woman. She taps her fingers rhythmically along the mahogany surface of the desk as she makes her way towards him.

“But for now you should probably up the ante on security, considering how your building has a reputation for being impenetrable and all.”

She comes to a stop in front of him as she finishes her sentence. With only a few steps in between the two, Wonwoo notices the slight glint in her eyes as she cocks her head to the side. If he could be bothered he might have felt threatened, but right now she’s challenging him to something he does not have the time or patience for.

“Get out before I call-”

“Security? Haven’t I just proven to you that they’re useless?”

She rolls her eyes behind her mask. Wonwoo grits his teeth.

“Either way, I’m not staying for long.”

Darkness suddenly fills his office for the second time that day.

“And that’s my cue.”

Wonwoo counts. The power outage lasts for exactly one minute. Enough time, however, for the woman to escape as mysteriously as she appeared.

Wonwoo makes sure to cancel the lunch appointment he had planned with Minghao, spending the rest of the day meticulously viewing security camera footage, firing even more people, reluctantly permitting police to search through his office, and sending off a single strand of platinum hair for DNA testing. He receives the result the next week. His efforts, however, prove to be futile; the test concluding that the hair was synthetic, and no other evidence of the woman being discovered. Nothing was stolen and nothing was left behind. 

book — fiesta: the sun also rises, ernest hemingway. word — twirl.

warnings: slight mention of alcohol consumption. word count: 463.

There’s something about the way Jun looks at you.

You can feel it, down to your bones, and you’re not sure if it’s a product of the wine you had with your dinner or the stars that shine like a mirror in his eyes, but it feels like home. Warm, and cozy, and familiar. It’s a warm summer night, and you’re completely sure that both the blush in your cheeks and the fuzzy feeling in your heart have nothing to do with it — because even when it’s cold outside, you always feel the same way deep within. 

“It’s amazing how much your dancing has improved in this past year,” he says, voice so soft it breaks through the spell. You’re brought back to tonight and to the ever-present tradition of post-dinner dancing you’d stablished even before you had gotten married. And to Jun, as if your thoughts had even wandered off of him in the first place. 

You look back at him, feeling one of his hands resting low on your waist and the other holding your own. You can feel the golden wedding band on his finger as it rests upon your skin, and can only think of the matching one adorning your hand. He smiles, and you don’t even try to fight back on the one that forms in your face as a response. There’d be no use for it, anyway, because with him, you’d always worn your heart in your sleeve. 

“What, you’re saying I was a bad dancer before?” You ask, responding with a question of your own. A habit, and one he recognizes, for his smile widens upon your words. A sense of comfort. “And we’re hardly dancing. We’re swaying.”

He sways a little to the side, letting go of your waist just enough to give you a twirl. Your hair flutters with the breeze, and he holds onto you as soon as you come back into his arms. You draw in a breath, and try not to lose your balance as he kisses your forehead and continues to sway the both of you along to the music. 

He lets out a quiet laugh. “Well, I guess now we’re dancing!” 

Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong’s Dream a Little Dream of Me plays softly from your record player, words and melody dancing organically alongside the soft cracking of the fire, the breathlessness in your laughter and the sound of your own footsteps. And, if you focus hard enough, even the sound of your own heartbeat. Even if there was no music playing, it was a sound you could dance to forever.

word count: 663

response to @svtwritenight‘s prompt 2:  character A has unexpectedly run into character B. Write something that answers these questions: where are they, and why is it surprising to find B there?

- - -

It’s three drinks in when Seungcheol realises that the bar Mingyu picked has a live band. Tucked into the dim front corner, by the long window is a trio - a drummer, a guitarist and a singer. Jun and Mingyu are rowdy, so much so that the english cover can barely be heard. The thickly lacquered wood table is sticky under his shot glass and Jeonghan giggles at how flushed he is already. Seokmin has his head tipped back, already passed out, wedged between a sober Vernon and Wonwoo. The lighting is dim enough to be warm, even as the exposed yellow bulb swings low above them. His back is to the band, but Seungcheol doesn’t pay any mind, too distracted by the drinking game in front of him that he was about to lose…again.

It’s six…no, seven, drinks in when the final strum of the set vibrates against his back.

“Okay, we’re gonna take a twenty minute break, thanks guys!”

The voice is familiar, but the young man can’t put his finger on it. Mingyu’s head is lolling on his neck as he whines about how drunk he is. Seokmin is awake again and finding every breath funny. Jeonghan nudges him insistently with a bony shoulder.

“C'mon, cheollie. Your shout this round.” He cheers. “Cheollie, cheollie, cheollie!”

He rolls his eyes but nods with a smile, holding his hand up for an attendant. Waving it with a bit of distorted impatience, Seungcheol stands to look for someone’s attention. His elbow jabs someone who squeaks in pain.

It’s then the recognisable scent of heady florals stabs him, forcing him to turn. Narrow pupils and ajar mouth meet him. It’s a version he’s seen too many times.

“Y/n?”

“S-Seungcheol - I, uh Cheol?” You splutter, similarly shocked.

Of course it’s your favourite perfume that he recognises. The same always settled into your skin, that seeps into his shirts when you hang out.

“What are you- You said you were busy tonight.” He says, hand still in midair.

Zero drinks and two nights ago, he’d invited you out for drinks with them. Hassled you seeing as you hadn’t been seen since before the lunar new year.  Something you swiftly turned down with a teary emoji and other arrangements. A rain check.

You fidget on the spot, tugging and playing with the long moonstone pendant on tonight. The rapper finally gets a chance to take in your attire. A pair of jeans and a thin top and stylish dark jacket.

“I-I am. I have been. I, uh will be.” You say, evasive.

“Oh?”

Cheol is seven drinks in when he hears your name being called over the chatter of the bar from the corner where the music came from. The lanky guy on the cajón holds up a cranberry coloured drink in one of his hands. You nod in a gesture to stall.

“Why is the drummer calling for you?” He says slow, the flush on his face fading with growing sobriety.

You twist the metal chain even more, eyes on anything but him. You shrug.

“I may be in….” He doesn’t catch the end of your sentence. You clear your throat. “I’m the singer in a band. Me and a couple of guys from my old communications class started up a cover band. This is a regular gig of ours.”

“You sing?” He says, bewildered.

You laugh from a combo of his lack of filter and the sweet painting of red across his face. “Yes. And I’m not bad at it.”

Seungcheol is seven rapidly sobering drinks in when he realises that one of his closest friends and not so secret object of his affection sings like an angel. You touch his bicep and show a hasty smile.

“I gotta go. But I’ll be here for another hour and a half. Maybe see you then?” You chirp.

*

“I’m sure you heard this enough from Ma, but thank you for helping her yesterday.” You muttered, in an attempt to break the silence between the two of you. It would be a minute before you would walk in, so you might as well make the most of it. 

“It’s no problem. Though if I’m honest, I did suspect that you were related to Minah yesterday. I probably should have said something.” He confessed. For a moment you wondered how he could have possibly known, before realizing you had mentioned your sister by name in front of him.

Shrugging, you smiled and looked over at him, taking your eyes off of the door as the two children began the procession. “It’s cool. There are probably a ton of Minah’s and Seokmin’s. You probably would have felt super awkward if it hadn’t been them we were talking about. I know I wouldn’t have brought it up either.” The two of you took a few steps forward as Soonyeong and Soomi moved up to be in front of the door as they waited for their turn to enter. “Besides, if you had mentioned that you were a part of Seokmin’s wedding party, Ma would have never let you go without forcing you to come to coffee with us. You’d have heard soooo many baby stories and i’m sure you have much better things to do with your time.”

Wonwoo chucked softly, damn his voice was deep. His laugh was almost mesmerizing to listen to, as was his voice in general. But something about the low bass made your heart skip slightly. “I’m sure it wouldn’t have been so bad. But your mother is…”

“A piece of work? Oh definitely. I hope she didn’t bother you guys too much after i left.” As Soonyeong and Soomi entered the hall, the two of you stepped forward to take their place at the door.

“Well she isn’t as spastic as Soonyoung or Seungkwan but, she did make sure to let us know that her other child was very single and definitely needed a date from one of us, how did she put it…’strapping young men’.” His explanation caused your face to heat up in embarrassment.

“Of course she did.” You’d have to have ANOTHER talk with her about being fine with your lack of a love life. “I’m sure she conveniently forgot to mention that I live in America too.” So even if you did manage to get into a relationship while you were visiting, it wouldn’t last. That’s just too far of a distance.