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tinytinyblogs · 21 days
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Stray Kids Mafia Series: Changbin
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Once he sets his gaze upon you, he vows to return for you.
(mafia theme, non-idol au)
💌I might update it when I remember; switching from one thing to another almost made me forget about this Tumblr, but I'll still ensure to listen to any of your requests or stories.
Stray kids masterlist here
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Your insights and reactions make these posts come alive. Love reblogs, comments, and all the good vibes welcome ✨
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Beneath the icy caress of the night wind, the world shivered. Darkness draped itself like a shroud over the forgotten alleyway, where Changbin sat hunched, a wounded warrior adrift in a sea of pain. His battle-scarred flesh, an intricate tapestry of crimson and bone, mirrored the brutal symphony that echoed in his aching limbs. Even a whisper of movement seemed an insurmountable ordeal, each tortured groan an echo in the oppressive silence. The quiet city hummed faintly in the distance, a distant serenade against the oppressive stillness that swallowed the alley whole. But then, the silence fractured. A presence materialized beside him, a shadow coalescing into form and settling onto the unforgiving stone. Changbin's weary eyes, heavy with the weight of pain and exhaustion, cracked open just a touch. He met your gaze, a mix of concern and an enigmatic curiosity swirling within its depths. Your voice, a quiet melody in the harsh nocturne, cut through the silence. "I won't offer you this ice cream because based on your condition, you're on your deathbed." you stated, the gentleness of your words belying the firm conviction in your tone. The air thickened with unspoken questions. Who were you, a ghost conjured by the delirium of his wounds, or a savior emerging from the inky night? Your mere presence was a spark, a flicker of warmth in the desolate expanse of his pain. And though his body thrummed with the chilling whispers of defeat, Changbin found himself inexplicably drawn to the enigma before him, to the promise of answers hidden within your shadowed eyes.
The air buzzed with unspoken tension as your words hung heavy in the alleyway's stagnant air. "So, no ice cream for you, then," you reiterated, your voice unwavering despite the chaos that still resonated from Changbin's fight. He stared at you, his brows furrowed in a confused frown. Your presence, here in this desolate purgatory, amidst the smoldering embers of his brutal encounter, was as incongruous as a hummingbird in a hurricane. "You shouldn't be here," he rasped, his voice a strained whisper through the grit of his teeth. He understood the danger, the razor-thin edge on which he teetered, and your presence, somehow, magnified it. You, however, simply nodded, acknowledging the unspoken truth of his statement. That calm veneer you wore, so at odds with the icy night and the still-fresh echoes of violence, only heightened his bewilderment. "I figured," you remarked, taking another deliberate bite of your ice cream. The incongruity of the action – the sweet, milky taste against the backdrop of raw grit and danger – sent shivers down Changbin's spine. It was as if you were relishing the very dissonance of the scene, the cold treat a perverse counterpoint to the heat of his wounds. "The way you fought back there," you continued, your gaze unwavering, "it was like something ripped straight out of an action movie." Your admission lingered in the air, a heavy weight settling on his battered chest. Your presence, the evidence of your witness to his desperate struggle, was a thorn in his side.
You shouldn't be here, a silent observer in the shadows of his clandestine world. You should have faded away, a fleeting apparition lost in the night, yet here you sat, your cool demeanor and icy treat only amplifying the surrealness of the moment. The mafia's brutal dance had concluded, curtains drawn on their bloody ballet, yet you remained, an anomaly in the aftermath, and Changbin couldn't help but wonder – who were you, and what game were you playing in this unforgiving alleyway? "Leaving you here to bleed out," you countered, your voice calm yet firm, "wasn't exactly on my itinerary tonight." Your words, simple yet resolute, defied the logic of the situation. Stepping into this murky underworld, negotiating with shadows and secrets, was far from your preferred terrain. Yet, the sight of him – a warrior carved from stone, now brought low by invisible blades – had ignited a dormant ember of empathy within you. Ignoring him, letting him slip into the oblivion of shadows, was a fate you couldn't bear to witness. "If your man doesn't show up in a few minutes, I'll have to drag your hulking frame to the hospital myself." Changbin's voice, rasping through cracked lips, was a gravelly whisper in the echoing symphony of the city's distant hum. His words, "You have no idea what you've gotten yourself into," hung heavy in the air, a grim foreboding that settled on the frigid night like a shroud of ash. It was more than a warning; it was a lament, a resignation sung by a man who knew the darkness all too well and saw you, a moth drawn to his flickering flame, teetering on the precipice of his perilous world.
You turned, meeting his gaze head-on. His features, etched with the stark lines of past battles, remained an enigma, a carefully crafted mask that shielded his true intentions. You felt a shiver dance down your spine, like the first brush of icy wind against bare skin. "I don't know," you admitted, your voice steady despite the thrumming pulse of adrenaline in your veins. "Who you are, I mean. But judging by the symphony of bruises adorning you and the echoes of that brawl still hanging in the air, 'normal person' wouldn't exactly be the apt title for your biography." Your words hung in the air, a spark of defiance challenging the unspoken threat simmering in his shadowed eyes. You pressed on, the image of him fighting like a cornered beast still fresh in your mind. "But," you continued, your voice softening, "at least you should acknowledge the fact that in this city of indifference, I choose to care. I chose to stay, not turn a blind eye to a wounded warrior bleeding in the dark." A flicker of something, maybe surprise, maybe grudging respect, crossed his face as you spoke. He shifted, wincing as pain lanced through his battered body. A low growl escaped his lips, laced with a raw edge that sent another shiver skittering across your skin. "I could kill you, you know," he rasped, his eyes narrowing into dangerous slits. "Right here, right now." His words were a blunt warning, a testament to the life he navigated, a world where violence was a currency traded on the dark corners of the night. You met his gaze unflinchingly, choosing honesty as your shield. "Sure," you retorted, a surprising calmness washing over you. "Kill me after you catch your breath, though. You look like you're about to drop dead on your own right now."
Changbin squinted in the dim, lamplight casting shadows that danced across your face. Despite the grime and the raw edge of danger hanging heavy in the air, you held yourself with a cool audacity that intrigued him. Your sharp wit, a flickering spark in the darkness, ignited a begrudging smile on his lips. It felt strange, almost wrong, to find himself enjoying your company amidst the throbbing pain in his body and the cold bite of the night. Yet, you were a welcome distraction, a melody playing against the harsh symphony of his reality. The sound of an approaching car shattered the fragile peace. Changbin's instincts, honed by years of navigating the shadows, jolted awake. He reacted with the speed of a striking viper, pulling you into the deeper darkness of the alleyway. You found yourselves huddled together, the night an inky cloak shielding you from unseen eyes. His senses on high alert, Changbin scanned the surroundings, his jaw clenched tight. "So much for killing me," you whispered, your voice a soft echo in the charged silence. "Why protect me now?" The question, laced with a hint of amusement, pierced through the tension. You felt the heat of his glare even in the darkness, a silent warning to remain quiet. His hiss, "Shut up," was clipped, rough around the edges, but beneath it, you sensed a flicker of something else – concern, perhaps, or a begrudging respect for your audacity.
Changbin's body coiled like a striking serpent, taut with tension at the approaching headlights. But as the silhouettes of his men materialized from the car, his muscles slowly unfurled, a grudging acceptance settling over him. He didn't release your hand, though. It remained clasped in his, a surprising warmth amidst the cold steel of his resolve. Emerging from the alleyway, he moved with quiet confidence, a stark contrast to the raw violence that had just played out. His presence exuded a steely aura, even amidst the bruises and torn flesh painting his body. He gestured towards his men with a curt nod, guiding you with his gaze, the unspoken promise of protection hanging heavy in the air. Standing before you, battered but unbowed, Changbin couldn't deny the strange allure that had woven itself around you. Your presence, like a stray ember glowing in the desolate wasteland of his world, had kindled something within him. A flicker of curiosity, a spark of fascination – emotions he'd never acknowledged before. You were a puzzle piece he couldn't quite place, a discordant note in the harsh symphony of his life, yet he found himself drawn to the dissonance, the intriguing melody you played just beneath the surface. The night wind whipped around you, whispering secrets Changbin couldn't decipher. His men moved swiftly, shadows engulfing them once more. He watched them go, his grip on your hand tightening for a fleeting moment before reluctantly releasing it. As they dissolved into the darkness, Changbin met your gaze once more, a silent question lingering in his eyes.
"What are you looking at?" Your question, echoing against the grimy walls of the alleyway, hung in the air like a misplaced melody. Its innocence, stark against the backdrop of your recent audacity, painted a confusing portrait in Changbin's mind. Was it naivety, sheer obliviousness to the danger you'd waded into, or something else entirely? A calculated defiance, a spark of rebellion hidden beneath those luminous eyes? He started to explain "I told you," the words heavy on his tongue like leaden weights. "You don't know what you've gotten yourself into," he began, his voice a low rumble in the night. But then, the streetlight bathed you in its pale luminescence, and for the first time, he saw you clearly. The moonlight, like a sculptor's chisel, revealed the delicate lines of your face, the soft arc of your lips, the firefly glint in your eyes. And for a moment, the chaos, the pain, the weight of his world, everything faded away. He found himself…enjoying the view. Your arrival, a whirlwind of action and defiance, had ripped through the carefully constructed walls of his existence. You were a glitch in the matrix, a discordant note in the grim symphony of his life, and he couldn't ignore the dissonance it awakened within him. The words he spoke, echoing in the stillness, carried a double meaning. You'd stepped into his world, uninvited yet undeniable, and with that came an unspoken understanding, a pact forged in the crucible of the night.
His life, a labyrinth of shadows and secrets, had always operated on one principle: take what you want. And what he wanted, at that moment, was to understand you, to unravel the enigma you presented. You had dared to defy him, to offer him kindness amidst the carnage, and that act, that flicker of humanity in the darkness, had ignited a curiosity he couldn't suppress. It was a dangerous path, fraught with uncertainty, but the allure of the unknown, of this unexpected connection, was a siren song he couldn't resist. The moon, a silent witness to this dance of attraction and danger, bathed the alleyway in its silver glow. The air crackled with unspoken electricity, a battle of wills played out in the quiet space between them. And as Changbin met your gaze, his own emotions mirroring the turmoil within, he knew one thing for certain: this was just the beginning, the opening act in a drama more unpredictable than any he'd ever known. Changbin's voice, roughened by the night and the echoes of the recent struggle, dipped low as he spoke. "See you soon, pretty," he murmured, the husky endearment a stark contrast to the grim setting. His words, laced with a veiled promise, hung heavy in the air, a tangible weight settling between you. "Get yourself ready to keep seeing me," he added, his eyes glinting with an unyielding determination. "I wouldn't let someone like you go away from my sight easily." The last line, delivered with a quiet confidence, was more than just a statement; it was a declaration of intent, a promise carved into the night air.
© Tinytinyblogs
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tinytinyblogs · 28 days
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The Mafia: Mingi
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He never jokes about his determination to make you his forever, even if it means he has to take a bullet to prove his love for you.
(Mafia theme, mention gun and blood) 1k words
This story has been lingering in my draft for quite some time, and I haven't made any changes or edits to it.
💌 @ultimatebathroomsinger
Ateez masterlist here
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Your insights and reactions make these posts come alive. Love reblogs, comments, and all the good vibes welcome ✨
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The opulent ballroom buzzed with an unsettling energy, a symphony of clinking glasses, silken whispers, and forced laughter that hung like a shroud over the gathering. Amidst this sea of feigning sophistication, a palpable tension crackled like electricity, threatening to erupt at any moment. Like phantoms in a masquerade, the guests mingled, their faces masks of artificial smiles, their eyes darting like wary predators. Enemies, forced to feign cordiality for the sake of appearances, exchanged knowing glances, their words laced with thinly veiled hostility. Beneath the veneer of camaraderie, a web of unspoken threats and hidden agendas wove its intricate pattern, poised to ensnare the unsuspecting. Amidst this treacherous tableau, your eyes found solace in the gentle presence of Mingi, a figure radiating an aura of quiet strength amidst the chaos.
His gaze, as deep and mesmerizing as the midnight sky, met yours, sending a reassuring warmth through your veins. Yet, a nagging doubt lingered, a question that echoed in the recesses of your mind: Was it wrong to find comfort in the presence of Mingi, a man whose name was whispered in the same breath as violence and power? You, clad in a shimmering dress that seemed to reflect the very essence of your vulnerability, felt like an outsider in this world of hardened criminals and Machiavellian schemes. In the heart of the opulent ballroom, you stood mesmerized by Mingi's gaze, his eyes a hypnotic vortex that drew you deeper into their depths. As if on cue, the room plunged into darkness, the vibrant lights extinguishing like a collective breath, leaving behind an unsettling silence that sent shivers down your spine.
In the stark void, Mingi's presence transformed into your lifeline, a beacon of hope amidst the encroaching darkness. His strong hand found your waist, pulling you closer, his solid form a comforting shield against the looming chaos. In that moment of absolute surrender, you knew that only Mingi mattered, his presence the only anchor in the tempestuous sea of turmoil. As the darkness thickened, the air grew thick with an ominous tension. Gunshots erupted, their deafening blasts shattering the silence, sending echoes ricocheting through the room like a symphony of terror. Painful groans and cries of despair followed, their sources obscured by the enveloping gloom. The once elegant guests, now transformed into terrified souls, scattered in all directions, their frantic footsteps echoing like the panicked heartbeat of the night.
In the midst of this pandemonium, your body was tossed about like a leaf in a storm, Mingi's grip the only lifeline keeping you from being swept away by the human tide. The sounds of violence intensified, the air heavy with the acrid tang of gunpowder and the palpable fear that gripped the room. Suddenly, amidst the cacophony of chaos, a deep, guttural groan escaped Mingi's lips, a sound that sent a chill down your spine. The echo of his suffering hung heavy in the darkness, a stark reminder of the peril that surrounded them. The silence that followed was almost deafening, broken only by the occasional groan. As you and Mingi escaped the chaos of the ballroom, he dragged you towards a room with a large window, the only source of light amidst the darkness.
The moonlight streamed in, illuminating the room and revealing Mingi's bloody shirt. Despite the wound, he couldn't suppress a grin. "We're safe, sweetheart," he said, his voice laced with affection. He gently lifted your chin, forcing you to look into his eyes. "I told you, no one else can keep you safe. Only me." A wave of conflicting emotions washed over you. You knew Mingi was capable of great violence, but he also possessed a tenderness reserved only for you. You had always questioned his motives, but now, as he cradled you in his arms, you felt a flicker of trust. "I took the bullet for you," he confessed, his grin widening. "Stupid," you muttered to yourself, your voice barely a whisper as you fought back tears. The thought of the bullets that could have pierced your body sent shivers down your spine.
Mingi reached out with his other hand, gently wiping away the tears that streamed down your face. "Darling," he said softly, his voice filled with concern. "They say falling in love means we're being stupid. Well, I guess I've been stupid for you all this time." A faint smile graced your lips despite the fear that still lingered in your heart. "And I'm not going to let this bullet wound kill me," he continued, his voice filled with determination. "My men will be here soon, and you're going to stay with me tonight." Your eyes narrowed into slits, their fiery gaze piercing through Mingi's calm demeanor. "Why would you do that?" you hissed, your voice barely a whisper yet laced with intense emotion. "You know it's dangerous!" Mingi maintained his serene expression, his lips curving into a gentle smile.
"Calm down, my love," he soothed. "It's called sacrifice, and I'm willing to make it for you." A sudden noise from outside startled you. Footsteps echoed in the hallway, followed by a voice that Mingi immediately recognized as belonging to one of his trusted men. "That's why I told you to make it easy for both of us," Mingi said, turning his attention back to you. His gaze softened, his eyes filled with a tenderness that almost melted your resistance. "Just marry me," he proposed, his voice a gentle caress. "Be stupid for me, love me. Isn't that easy enough?" Mingi turned his body to face you squarely, his expression resolute. "One bullet should be enough to demonstrate that I'm not joking," he declared, his voice unwavering. The door burst open as one of his men rushed in, his face etched with concern. He quickly scanned Mingi for injuries, his relief evident when he received a nod of assurance. "I'm fine," Mingi informed him, his tone dismissive. "Take care of the rest. Get the car ready and take my fiancée with us." With a final wink at you, Mingi strode towards the door, leaving his men to handle the aftermath. You followed closely behind, your heart still pounding from the adrenaline rush.
© Tinytinyblogs
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tinytinyblogs · 1 month
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Stray Kids Mafia Series: Felix
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In the midst of the chaos and perilous circumstances, he unexpectedly spared your life, an action he had never taken for anyone else.
âš Mention blood and gun, mafia themeâš 
Stray kids masterlist here
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Your insights and reactions make these posts come alive. Love reblogs, comments, and all the good vibes welcome ✨
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The red velvet banquette, usually avoided like a spilled martini on a first date, beckoned with unexpected allure tonight. Tonight was rebellion against the predictable, a whispered promise of "different" scribbled on the fluorescent bar lights. You perched on its cool edge, a tentative bird testing unfamiliar branches, a kernel of hope blooming in the concrete jungle of routine. Your gaze drifted to the crystal goblet on the bar, catching the neon strobe's prismatic dance. It winked and shimmered, a tiny disco ball reflecting the kaleidoscope of your own desires for change. Was this the chance you'd whispered about in silent prayers to the night sky? Was this the crack in the dam of habit, the beckoning of a current you'd never dared to ride? Surrounded by the chaos of a frantic nightclub, panic gripped your heart as the sudden sound of gunfire shattered the air. Screams pierced the night, and people scrambled for safety, their bodies colliding as fear turned to desperation. Overwhelmed by the sheer terror of the moment, you froze, your instincts urging you to find shelter amidst the chaos. Adrenaline surged through your veins you scanned the room for a place to hide. Running seemed like a futile attempt, your legs feeling heavy and unresponsive. With trembling hands, you sought refuge in the nearest alcove, your body curling into a protective ball as the cacophony of screams and panicked footsteps echoed around you. The tremor in the floorboards was a familiar language, a whispered rhythm beneath the symphony of the city.
You knew each creak, each groan, and the precise tremor that meant hurried footsteps. Tonight, however, the rhythm stuttered, followed by a sharp intake of breath. Someone had discovered your hiding place. Heart hammering against your ribs, you squeezed your eyes shut your heart pounded in your chest, threatening to burst from its confines, as you imagined the worst-case scenario: your own life hanging by a thread in this tumultuous night. Every nerve ending hummed with anticipation, waiting for the deafening crack that would signal your end. But the expected blast never came. Instead, a tense silence stretched, punctured only by the ragged rhythm of your own breath. Curiosity wrestled with fear, urging you to peek. With agonizing slowness, you cracked open an eyelid, then the other. A gun glinted menacingly in his hand, its metallic sheen a stark contrast against the crimson stain spreading across his shirt. He emerged from the gloom like a mirage, moonlight catching the pale sheen of his skin. Blood, you realized with a jolt, marred his cheekbone, a crimson stain against the alabaster canvas. Yet, even in the throes of chaos, even with a gun clutched tight in his hand, he was breathtaking. His blonde hair, long and tousled, fell in a mullet that somehow managed to be both rebellious and strangely delicate. It framed a face sculpted with an almost arrogant perfection, jawline sharp enough to cut diamonds, eyes the color of a stormy sea. He stood frozen, a tableau of lethal grace, every line of his body taut with tension.
As your eyes met his, you flinched, expecting the worst. The man, caught off guard by your unexpected presence, almost reacted impulsively, his finger hovering dangerously close to the trigger. Your gaze, drawn by an invisible magnetism, followed the cold metal to his hand, where a finger hovered impossibly close to the trigger. Tears, salty and warm, had already carved silent tracks down your cheeks, betraying the desperate scream trapped within your chest. Your throat, constricted by a primal fear, refused to let out a sound, your voice stolen by the terror that clawed at your insides. It felt as if your very being vibrated with an unheard plea, a silent cry for help that echoed only in the hollow chambers of your heart. However, something held him back, a flicker of humanity amidst the chaos that surrounded him your presence in this atmosphere of violence seems misplaced. He could see the terror in your eyes, a reflection of his own inner turmoil. He realized, in that fleeting moment, that the violence he had been a part of had spilled beyond his control, ensnaring innocent lives in its destructive wake. Lost in a haze of terror, you opened your eyes to find the man still frozen in his tracks, his gaze locked on yours. His deep voice, surprisingly calm amidst the chaos, echoed through the room. Your lungs finally released the breath you hadn't dared to exhale, a shaky torrent that escaped in a single, shuddering sob. The gun, once aimed with chilling precision at your heart, now hung limp at his side, the tip dipping almost apologetically towards the ground. His eyes, those storm-laden depths, searched yours with a bewilderment that mirrored your own.
He pivoted away, his back stiff and unyielding, like a fortress against the tidal wave of emotions threatening to break within him. His breath escaped in a sigh, heavy and laden with frustration. Why? Why should he feel this pang of regret, this sudden urge to shield you from the chaos he himself had unleashed? Spare your life? It was laughable, almost grotesque. He, the predator, the harbinger of violence, now grappling with the unthinkable notion of mercy for his prey. The discordant symphony of the ravaged nightclub, a twisted echo of its former revelry, pierced the suffocating silence. It was a rude awakening, a stark reminder of the carnage swirling outside the bubble of his internal conflict. The sound brought him crashing back to reality, forcing him to confront the consequences of his actions and the unexpected weight of your fragile presence. "Don't move. Stay exactly where you are. I'll clear this up. Don't come out until I get you." With that, he turned and disappeared into the mayhem. You had no idea who he was, only that he was one of the men involved in the shootout, evidenced by the gun still clutched in his hand. You remained rooted to the spot, feeling like a hummingbird caught in a sudden downpour. The blonde stranger with the gun was a whirlwind of contradictions, spitting gunfire one moment, offering hesitant mercy the next. His words hung heavy in the air, tinged with an unexpected vulnerability that left you both bewildered and wary.
The incessant thrum of gunshots continued, a macabre rhythm punctuated by the occasional scream. Logic screamed at you to run, to seek refuge in the labyrinthine darkness of the club. But movement seemed to invite disaster, like a butterfly fluttering into a spider's web. So, you stayed, a statue sculpted from fear, flinching with every deafening crack, your ears aching from the sonic assault. Then, silence. It descended with the suddenness of a curtain falling, leaving behind a ringing emptiness that pressed against your eardrums. Your breath hitched, caught in your throat like a trapped bird. You strained to hear, your very being attuned to the slightest whisper of sound. It came then, a footstep. Deliberate, heavy, it echoed through the shattered silence with an eerie familiarity. It was his step, exactly the same, carrying the weight of unspoken choices and fresh bloodshed. You squeezed your eyes shut, a silent prayer forming on your lips, but he was already there, standing over you, a new crimson bloom staining his cheek. Your gaze, drawn by a morbid fascination, landed on the stark evidence of violence etched across his abdomen. The crimson bloom staining his shirt spoke of a wound severe enough to send shivers down your spine. His voice, a rumble from the depths of his chest, broke the suffocating silence. "Come out," it commanded, the gruffness barely masking the pain twisting his features.
Hesitantly, you crawled into the open, limbs stiff with fear yet propelled by a morbid curiosity. As you rose to your feet, the question on your lips tumbled out before you could think. "Are you alright?" It felt absurd, a meaningless platitude against the backdrop of his obvious injury. He remained silent, the only confirmation of your question the flickering in his stormy eyes. Yet, there was an unexpected intensity in his gaze as he studied you, dissecting your features as if searching for answers in the moonlight's dim canvas. As you stepped into the sliver of light filtering through a shattered window, your form becoming tangible, his eyes narrowed, the unspoken question in their depths mirroring your own. "Felix! Are you alright?" The name resonated through the shattered silence, carried on the panicked breaths of a group of men rushing towards him. It struck a chord within you, a name whispered in hushed tones around back alleys and murmured beneath watchful eyes. Felix. The name of the city's shadow king, the maestro of the underworld, the man woven into the very fabric of fear. His voice, a low rumble from the depths of his chest, cut through your haze of morbid introspection. "We need to get out of here." The words snagged on your attention, dragging you back from the tangled threads of your own thoughts. You met his gaze, the stormy depths catching the moonlight, and realized those words had been directed at you.
"Their men will be here any minute," he added, a grim reminder that the fragile peace of this shattered nightclub wouldn't hold forever. The echo of gunshots still danced in the air, a chilling counterpoint to the frantic whispers and hurried footsteps around you. You followed in the wake of Felix, his hulking frame and loyal shadow of men carving a path through the wreckage of the nightclub. Each step crunched on shattered glass, a discordant soundtrack to your escape. Your heart hammered against your ribs, a hummingbird trapped in a cage of nerves. Escape, in the form of the cool night air and the quiet whisper of distant streets, beckoned. Yet, leaving felt like walking off a tightrope strung over a chasm, exhilaratingly terrifying. Were you a stray caught in their spotlight, a witness they might choose to silence, or something more? His voice, roughened by smoke and violence, broke the uneasy silence. "Get in my car." Eyes the color of a brewing storm locked with yours, their depths unreadable. The fresh air that should have cleansed your lungs felt stagnant, heavy with unspoken questions and the lingering acrid tang of gunpowder. Confusion warred with a reluctant curiosity. You were nobody in this world of theirs, a fleeting wisp in the hurricane of Felix's existence. So why the lingering glance, the unexpected offer? A hesitant shake of your head came before you could fully form the words. The puzzle pieces of this encounter refused to fit, leaving you adrift in a sea of bewilderment.
A low chuckle, unexpected and almost jarring, rumbled from Felix's chest. He swiped at a smear of blood drying on his cheek, the gesture almost casual, almost… charming. "Lovely," he drawled, the pet name catching you off guard. It sent a shiver down your spine, a dissonance against the steely glint in his eyes. His smile, when it came, was like a wolf baring its fangs in moonlight, both beautiful and unnerving. "Get in the car, sweetheart. Walking away? Not the brightest idea you've ever had." The wind, a mischievous imp, danced through your unbound hair, sending strands skittering across your cheek like ticklish whispers. His words, unexpectedly melodious against the backdrop of chaos, still reverberated in your ears: "I spared your life." The warmth of his voice, a stark contrast to the icy grip of fear, lingered on your skin. But the respite was fleeting. "And it's time you paid." His gaze, sharp as a falcon's, dipped to the crimson bloom staining his abdomen. The wound, a gruesome testament to the carnage that unfolded, tugged at the fragile cord of your composure. "Treat it," he commanded, his words carrying the weight of a king's decree. "You understand, sweetheart, a hospital isn't exactly my playground." The implication hung heavy, unspoken but undeniable. Knowing his identity was your invisible collar, binding you to this twisted game. A beat of silence, then his voice shifted, the harsh edges softening like melting ice. "And," he murmured, the word almost caress, "I need to know what made me rethink my initial decision, my lovely. What prompted me to spare a fly like you?"
© Tinytinyblogs
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tinytinyblogs · 1 month
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In The Middle Of Chaos
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You both realize you don't need anyone else.
A narrative drawn from inspiration found on Pinterest.
(fluff, part two of this Minho soft hours)
1,4k words
Stray kids masterlist here
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Your insights and reactions make these posts come alive. Love reblogs, comments, and all the good vibes welcome ✨
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In the middle of chaos, there he was. For a whole month after Minho confessed his feelings to you and things started unfolding, the arranged marriage that you expected to be chaotic doesn't seem as bad as you thought. From the day after the confession until now, Minho has been becoming gentler, especially towards you. As the two of you navigate the situation and grow accustomed to each other's company, you might not even notice how consistently Minho is there for you, no matter what. During those moments when work stress starts to get to you, Minho is there, gently holding your hand and silently placing your favorite drink on the table beside you. He remains the same Minho you know, but there's a noticeable change as he begins to open up about himself, doing things he seems to have always wanted to do.
In the midst of a presentation at a meeting, after you've finished, there he is, sitting in the back with a smile on his face. While others around you are clapping and showing appreciation for your excellent presentation, Minho expresses his admiration for you in his own unique way. Caught in his gaze, he gives you a small smile without saying a word, and you can sense his pride and support for you. Amidst the applause and praises from others, there's something you might not realize – in the middle of all that noise, Minho's smile holds a special meaning. It goes beyond what anyone else is expressing. You may not be aware, but his small gestures of care carry a significant weight, often meaning more to you than you might have ever imagined. Minho is still his usual self, but things are less confusing now, possibly because he's been honest about his feelings for you, and you're getting to know him better.
You've noticed that he can be a bit stern and boss-like with others, preferring efficiency in his work. Sometimes, when things don't go the way he wants, he might get a bit upset. However, what stands out is that even in the midst of his frustration, the moment you enter his office and catch his eye, his tough exterior seems to disappear. His gaze softens, and a small smile appears on his face. After sending everyone out of the room, leaving just the two of you, Minho takes a step closer and gently embraces you. He seeks comfort in the warmth of your hug, using it as a way to momentarily forget the things that trouble him. He's convinced that it's the effect of love because everything about you feels just right. As you place your hand on his back and pat him, providing silent support, he starts to feel more at ease.
Your presence alone has a powerful effect on him, making him believe that all he truly needs in his life is you. You can observe him making a genuine effort, even though being soft isn't really his usual style. When he notices that you're being too hard on yourself and filled with doubt, he quietly positions himself next to you without saying anything at first. Then, in his deep voice, he shares, "You are the most beautiful person I've seen in my whole life. In my eyes, you are perfect." His gaze meets yours, and he continues, "If you're tired, take a break. Don't push yourself—I'll be here for you." As he pulls you closer, you find comfort in hiding your face against his chest. He transforms the chaos in your life into something better, making you feel even happier. Even though he's making a conscious effort not to reveal his softer side too much, you can still see glimpses of how tender and gentle he truly is.
And in the middle of his chaos, there was you. He never envisioned himself falling deeply in love with someone, to be completely honest. But since you entered his life, everything seems to have taken on a different hue. After you agreed to marry him, making you his fiancée, he found it increasingly challenging to conceal his feelings for you. His parents are aware, he himself is aware, and those around him can clearly see the depth of his love for you. Every time your eyes lock and you reciprocate with a sweet smile, he can't help but adore the way you gaze at him. When everyone around him has high expectations and anticipates him to be flawless, you enter his office and bring him a cup of hot chocolate, which has become his new favorite. "Take a rest, Minho," you say gently as you push the pile of papers away from him. "You can't push yourself too hard; everyone has limits. Leave the rest for tomorrow; you need to take care of yourself too."
Your presence serves as a reminder that he is important, and among all the people, you give him a concerned look when he forgets to care for himself, making him feel genuinely loved. When self-doubt starts creeping in, especially during moments when he must appear flawless in front of everyone, delivering speeches from the podium, you are there. Even in the midst of a crowded room, your eyes meet his, a comforting smile lingering on your face. As he stands before the audience, feeling the pressure to be perfect, your presence becomes a silent reassurance. Your mouth whispers, 'You can do it,' a supportive mantra only he can hear. Amidst the external facade of confidence, you're there, truly present for him. Throughout the rest of the speech, his gaze remains fixed on you, and he delivers his words with a genuine smile. When he concludes, and the applause fills the room, his attention is singularly focused on you. From a distance, you whisper, 'You did it well, Minho,' and in that moment, that affirmation means more to him than the collective applause of the crowd.
He swears that he couldn't care less about anyone else. As he steps down from the podium, he's almost dismissive of the nicely dressed crowd and the people showering him with admiration. None of that matters to him; his eyes are fixed solely on you. With a wide grin, he walks towards you, proudly declaring, "I did it." As he reaches you, your sweet smile warms his heart. Holding you close, he introduces you to everyone as his soon-to-be life partner. He solemnly believes that he wouldn't have achieved what he has now if it weren't for you. Your presence seems to have steered his life in a better direction. Without you, he thinks his life would be a mess, and he has no desire for anything else – all he needs is you. Until recently, he hadn't fully grasped the impact you had on his life. Now, when he can't find you around, he panics and frantically searches everywhere, a stark contrast to his usually composed self. The worry consumes him. Then, he recalls it's the day you visit your father's grave.
Despite the pouring rain, he runs towards you without hesitation. Amidst your sorrow, you spot him approaching, breathless, and he pulls you into a hug. Despite the rain, his warmth and presence make you feel not alone. Once he embraces you, he realizes without a doubt that choosing to marry you and being with you is the best decision he has ever made for himself. In that very moment, as he sees you and feels the tightness of your hug, he realizes that his deepest desire is simply to protect you and bring you happiness. Finally, after all this time, he begins to have a dream for himself, breaking away from the path his parents had laid out for him. When the day finally arrives, and he catches sight of you adorned in white, the overwhelming emotions well up within him. As he watches you walk towards him, a strong desire to shed tears grips him.
Taking your hand, he stands in a place saturated with happiness and brimming with hope, both of you sharing this special moment. Your dear and sweet smile beside him on this joyous day is something he never could have envisioned. "I, Lee Minho, commit myself to you, y/n, as my life partner to learn and grow with, to explore and adventure with, to respect you in everything as an equal partner, in the foreknowledge of joy and pain, strength and weariness, direction and doubt, for all the risings and settings of the sun. We tie these knots to symbolize our connection to one another. They represent our trust in each other and our combined strength together." On that special day, he makes a vow. Despite the ups and downs in your journey together, from the challenging beginnings to the deepening of your feelings as you both grew up, he promises that you are now his forever.
💬The vow is from this website, and I assure you I never sought out things like this seriously. My mom was genuinely surprised when she caught me looking into it.
©Tinytinyblogs
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tinytinyblogs · 1 month
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Come on give me idea
I've reached the end of my creative wellspring.
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tinytinyblogs · 1 month
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I always click "post" for the stupid things in my drafts. Just great.
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tinytinyblogs · 1 month
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I've reached the end of my creative wellspring.
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tinytinyblogs · 2 months
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Monster
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While others may perceive him as a monster, in your eyes, he is anything but.
(Mentioned self-loathing, stranger to lover, gender-neutral) 2,1K words
A narrative drawn from inspiration found on Pinterest.
Ateez masterlist here
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Your insights and reactions make these posts come alive. Love reblogs, comments, and all the good vibes welcome ✨
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The world saw San as a stormy cloud, like a large creature in human form making loud noises. His uniqueness, deeply ingrained in him, was like a red mark on his soul. Instead of being curious, people were scared of him. He is a destroyer; everything he touches ends up broken or injured. His name was rarely spoken, like a forbidden sound in the normal places. He was naturally isolated, surrounded by whispers and avoided looks. Every time he tried to touch someone, it ended in disaster, leaving behind only pain. The laughter he wanted to hear was like a song in his dreams, unfamiliar in the regular world. His heart, wanting warmth, stayed in the cold shadow of being rejected. Every morning reminded him of his lonely existence, and every laugh mocked his silent cries. The world seemed to have created a lonely prison for him, and its key was made from a distorted view. As bitterness grew, San felt a change in the ground beneath him. Whispers turned into screams, and avoided looks turned into full-blown terror. He, who was pushed away, started pushing others away. His pain, fueled by the world's negativity, started fighting back, a desperate plea for acknowledgment and connection, even if it meant creating it through the fires of fear.
The monster in him believed that nobody on earth could be kind to him. His heart was like a closed garden with no space for the difficulties of human interaction. And then there was you—a spark in the lonely landscape of his life. Your eyes, without the usual flinch or disgust, seemed like windows to a world he thought he could never access. When you bent down to pick up his red scarf, a gift from a long-gone mother, your voice, a soothing touch to his troubled soul, broke the silence. "You dropped this," you whispered, the words carrying a melody he'd never heard before. Hesitantly, he reached for it, his eyes meeting yours once again. There was no sign of fear or disgust, just a gentle curiosity. Surely, you knew. You must have. Whispers followed him like crows, a dark group casting shadows on his soul. Yet, there you were, untouched by fear, offering a connection like a bridge across a deep gap. The red scarf, once a symbol of his isolation, now became a delicate lifeline—a glimmer of hope in the overwhelming darkness. Could it be? Could someone truly see beyond the scary exterior and catch a glimpse of the boy he might be? The question lingered in the air, a silent plea resonating between your gazes.
The monster in him, a twisted snake of fear and distrust, showed itself. You, with clear eyes and a kind voice, bravely peeked beneath the damaged mask he wore. A tiny bit of hope grew in his empty heart, but old hurts quickly killed it. He thought, maybe, your innocence was fake, and your kind look just a passing fancy. He couldn't let himself believe in such a cruel trick. The lonely street, covered in swirling snow, matched the emptiness inside him. The freezing cold got through his worn-out coat, but it was the isolating loneliness that really made him numb. Every gust of wind reminded him of his solitude, an unwanted friend in the quiet. Then, a bit of warmth broke through the darkness. A careful tap on his shoulder, a whisper in the icy air. Surprised, he turned to see you standing there, a steady light in the snowy darkness. Your closeness woke up his senses, but your gaze stayed calm, as pure as the first snow. Stuck in your eyes, a captive of your comforting presence, he felt drawn to a part of himself he hadn't explored before. This vulnerability, this dependence, made him feel uncomfortable yet strangely comforted, leaving him angry at himself.
The monster in him woke up, confused. You, offering kindness like he had never experienced. Your hesitant smile appeared as you pulled out a paper bag from under your coat, holding it like a precious ember against the winter cold. With a gentle push, you placed it in front of him, silently inviting him to share. San, cautious but curious, looked inside. In the bag, like a small sun warming the chilly air, was a bread shaped like a fish, its golden crust still carrying the warmth of the oven. Yet, it wasn't just the warmth of the bread that surprised him. As he cautiously broke off a piece and tasted it, a different kind of warmth spread through him, thawing the corners of his long-cold heart. The simple act, the unspoken understanding in your eyes, sparked a glimmer of hope he hadn't dared to nurture. He enjoyed the bread, each bite a small rebellion against the loneliness he had worn like a second skin. The taste – sweet, yeasty, with a hint of the sea – turned into a connection, a song playing just for him. In that moment, the scary part loosened its grip on him, and a crack appeared in the icy fortress he had built around himself. It's cozy, but it's not because of that fish-shaped bread – it's because of you.
The monster in him roared, a basic clash against something he didn't know. You, a guiding light in the chaotic landscape of his life, showed a kindness so real, so different from the harsh treatment he was used to, that it stirred up his very soul. Was this warmth you were giving real, or just another cruel illusion in the emptiness of his existence? Doubt and questions messed with his mind like hungry rats. Lost in his thoughts, he didn't notice the cautious stares of the people around, fear evident as they moved away from the monster they thought he was. But in the midst of his contemplation, a glimmer of hope appeared. It was the image of you, stepping out of the store like sunshine breaking through heavy clouds. He braced himself for the expected – your eyes turning away, quickly passing him, silently confirming his outsider status. However, you looked into his eyes, and everything around him paused. A smile, a real and bright smile, spread across your face, like a flower blooming in the desolation of his lonely world. He stood still, unable to believe it. Never before in his memories had he seen such a sight.
The monster in him backed away, like a quiet puppy retreating after a surprising encounter. He couldn't believe what was happening. You, like an angel in a world full of troubles, were walking towards him, a bright smile on your face. The whispers from the people around, like a mean song, stopped when you showed up, and their fear faded away in the face of your constant kindness. He stood still, stuck in the whirlwind of you coming closer. The city sounds turned into a dull noise, and all he could focus on was you. When you stopped, like a heavenly being in the busy marketplace, the air was filled with unspoken questions. Your hand, like an offering from another world, held a simple candy, a symbol of something much bigger. "Do you want some?" your voice, a melody he never thought he'd hear, floated in the air. His world, full of shadows, couldn't possibly fit someone like you. He was the scary one people talked about in quiet voices, the one kids hid from, the one fear kept away. But there you were, a real embodiment of hope, offering him a sweet treat dipped in kindness. It's sweet, but it's not because of the candy – it's because of you.
The monster in him once like a growling storm cloud, had now become a quiet shadow. However, doubt still stuck around, like a fog hanging onto the edges of his thoughts. Was it real, the warmth and kindness you shared, like a sprinkle of care on his lonely life? He really wanted it – the feeling of sunlight, a sense of belonging. He wanted to believe in you, in the chance you brought, like a fragile bridge connecting his solitude to the rest of the world. So, he began to notice you everywhere. Not actually everywhere, but in sounds like your laughter or in the sunlight like your smile. He took a risk and started talking to you, cautiously at first, like opening a rusty lock, scared that it might make noise. But with each moment he stole with you, each word he shared, the rust started to loosen, and the door to his heart opened a bit wider. Listening to your voice, the stories you told with laughter and vulnerability, made him feel alive again. He wasn't just the scary one people talked about in quiet voices, the shadowy thing. You saw him, really saw him, not with fear but with a kind curiosity that melted the frost around his heart. And in return, he found the forgotten joy of smiles hiding in the corners of his own lips.
The monster in him started moving, a dark feeling of fear twisting in his stomach. The idea of you, the light he wanted the most, turning away and leaving him in never-ending darkness - it was a terror too deep to describe. The silence between you felt like a big gap he really wanted to fill, but he didn't know how. He couldn't take the heavy quiet, so he spoke up, his voice rough with hidden pain. "I'm a monster," he said, the words feeling like a sharp blade cutting through his throat. Your reply, simple but deep, hung in the air, like a rope thrown across the gap. "No, you're not," you said, your voice filled with gentle confidence. He raised his voice, saying, "I am," his eyes teary, letting out emotions he had kept inside for a long time. "I've always been different; people always avoid me. I destroy everything; I hurt people. Are you still pretending you don't know?" he exclaimed, without a hint of a smile, while you sat next to him, watching his inner struggle. "I don't care," you answered calmly. This wasn't news to you; warnings about him had reached you when you first came to town, but you never let those warnings change your view. After expressing your lack of concern, he went quiet, stood up from the bench, and started walking away. "San," you called after him, and he stopped without turning to look at you. "You've never been a monster in my eyes," you reassured him.
It was the monster within him, wanting you like a dry desert wants rain. Even though he tried to keep away, staying alone, your image stayed in his mind like a ghost that wouldn't leave. So, the scary part gave in, leading him to your door without a plan. With hesitation, his hand touched your door, knocking gently. You answered right away, warm and welcoming. There you were, looking beautiful in your soft clothes, a smile on your face like a sunrise. Without saying anything, you moved aside, inviting him in without words. In that moment, under your kind eyes, the scary part inside him did more than want – it felt a strong desire for you. He stepped inside, like a hesitant traveler entering a special place. Your scent, familiar and comforting, wrapped around him like a gentle hug. The scary part, so used to darkness, blinked in the soft light of your presence. You guided him in, offering not judgment but a safe place. And the scary part, for the first time ever, felt a bit of hope, a chance for redemption, just because you let him in. "I'm sorry for taking it out on you," he whispered, and you replied with a soft sound. "No need to apologize, San. Not at all."
And suddenly, the monster in him fall silent as he rest his head on your lap. his head nestled in your lap, a haven of warmth and comfort. Your fingers combed through his hair, each touch a silent symphony of tenderness. He inhaled the scent of you, a balm to his troubled soul. "Can I stay like this?" he murmured, eyes fluttering shut. "Can I keep feeling this… this sunlit warmth from you? Can I just be with you… always?" His hand found yours, resting it gently on your knee, anchoring him to this precious moment. He yearned to bottle it, to preserve it against the inevitable tides of time. "I don't need anyone else," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "Only you." A soft smile curved your lips. "Then stay," you breathed, pulling him closer. "Stay here with me, san. You're safe here." In your eyes, he saw not a monster, but a reflection of the man he could be. You treated him with respect, with an understanding that pierced through the layers of darkness he'd worn for so long. And perhaps, under your gentle touch, the beast within him was finally learning to recede, replaced by the flicker of a hopeful future. The monster in him has vanished as he found his home, it's no more.
©Tinytinyblogs
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tinytinyblogs · 2 months
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Is it hate or love?
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Hate or love? Their mixed signals are driving you crazy.
(Ot8 reaction, non-idol)
Hyung line Maknae line
Stray kids masterlist here
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Your insights and reactions make these posts come alive. Love reblogs, comments, and all the good vibes welcome ✨
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Han
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The pulsing bass vibrated through your bones, a chaotic counterpoint to the unease churning within you. The crowded club, once a beacon of escape, now felt like a suffocating cage, each pulsating beat a reminder of your misplaced hope. You knew parties weren't your forte, the cacophony and forced interactions a far cry from your comfort zone. Yet, here you were, seeking solace in the din, a desperate attempt to drown out the deafening silence of your own heart. Your gaze, like a moth drawn to a flame, flickered towards Han Jisung. The object of your silent affection, the boy who'd occupied your daydreams for longer than you cared to admit. Yet, your interactions were a constant push-and-pull, a dance of unspoken tension and veiled barbs. Seeing him now, surrounded by a flock of admirers, a bitter pang of envy twisted your gut. The heady mix of alcohol and disappointment threatened to overwhelm you. Just as you contemplated escape, another voice, smooth and saccharine, intruded your thoughts. You recognized the glint in his eyes, the practiced charm masking a predatory intent. You weren't naive, you knew his game, but the thought of succumbing to the distraction, of losing yourself in the fleeting euphoria, was almost tempting. But before you could play along, a familiar hand grasped your arm, pulling you away from the potential danger.
Han Jisung stood there, his expression a storm brewing behind his usual mask of indifference. "Are you stupid?" His voice was harsh, a jarring contrast to the club's intoxicating rhythm. The question, though blunt, held a surprising edge of concern. "What now, Jisung?" you snapped back, stung by his words. "Why don't you just mind your own business?" The loud music seemed to dim around you, replaced by the intensity of his gaze. His cologne, a familiar scent, filled your senses, grounding you in the chaos. His presence, imposing yet strangely comforting, made your head spin. "He obviously doesn't have any feelings for you," he stated, his voice low but firm. "He just wants something else. Are you too blind to see that?" His words, brutal but honest, pierced through the veil of denial you'd woven around your heart. "I know, okay?" you retorted, your voice choked with frustration. You yearned to escape, to drown his interference in the cacophony of the club, but his grip on your arm held you captive. "You said you knew," he repeated, his voice low but insistent. "Yet you still walked back in." You struggled against his hold, frustration burning in your throat. "Why do you care so much, Han Jisung?" you spat, your voice raspy with emotion. "Is there some other guy here you want to protect me from? Since when did you ever care about me?" The question, hurled like a weapon, hung heavy in the air.
You expected a smirk, a barbed retort, anything but the vulnerability that flickered across his face. He stepped closer, his hand finding your shoulder, a grounding touch in the swirling chaos. "I always care," he whispered, his voice surprisingly gentle. "Who said I never do? I only came here because I heard you were coming...to a party you hate." The music, once a pulsing assault on your senses, receded into a distant echo. Your own heart, a relentless drumbeat in your chest, "I wouldn't like it," he said, his voice a low rumble, each word a hammer blow to your carefully constructed facade. "I don't like it. I hate the thought of someone else…" He paused, his eyes searching yours, the vulnerability in their depths a stark contrast to his usual mask of indifference. "I hate the thought of someone else doing you wrong." The melody of his words, stripped bare of pretense, hit you differently "Let's just go home," he continued, his voice softer now, a gentle plea in his eyes. "You shouldn't be here. You should be somewhere…comfortable. Somewhere you can wear something that makes you feel cute, not…this." He gestured towards your outfit, the once-confident fabric suddenly feeling like a flimsy shield against his scrutiny. "They're going to stare a hole through you here," he added, his voice laced with a quiet anger you hadn't known resided within him.
Felix
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The air in the cramped dressing room felt thick with whispers and disapproval, a suffocating miasma that clung to your skin despite the icy blast of the air conditioner. Being a model, you were supposed to be immune to such scrutiny, your confidence honed like a diamond under pressure. Yet, here you were, feeling as small and fragile as a porcelain doll under the harsh glare of a thousand unseen eyes. Felix, your runway partner, was a study in stark contrast. Golden sunlight seemed to follow him like a halo, his chiseled features and sculpted physique the epitome of runway perfection. But to you, he was a storm cloud, his constant scowl and barely-there grunts a testament to his displeasure. You knew the whispers – how you, with your 'average' beauty, were a misstep in his flawless stride, a blemish on his pristine reputation. It stung, even though you hadn't begged for this partnership. You finished your makeup with a trembling hand, the image of Felix's laser-like gaze burning into your memory. From the moment you'd entered the room, his eyes had been fixed on you, a silent accusation hanging in the air. Now, with the call of the staff to cancel the show due to 'unfavorable audience reactions,' you felt a surge of defiance. This was your moment, your chance to break free from the suffocating expectations and malicious whispers.
But then, a voice like warm thunder sliced through the room. It was Felix, his usual monotone replaced by a fiery intensity. "Why do you think I want to cancel all of this?" he roared, his eyes blazing with a newfound determination. "I don't want to cancel. I don't want to change my partner." The room fell silent, the whispers replaced by a stunned gasp. Felix, the epitome of aloof perfection, was standing up for you, defying the invisible hand of public opinion. The air crackled with disbelief, a tangible shockwave emanating from Felix's pronouncement. "It's Y/N or no one," his voice boomed, shattering the suffocating silence of the cramped dressing room. It was a declaration, a defiant strike against the whispers and doubts that had been swirling around you like a noxious cloud. Every eye in the room turned to you, then back to Felix, their faces a mask of stunned surprise. "Stop talking bad about Y/N," he commanded, his voice a low growl that resonated in the room like a tuning fork. "This person is a perfect model, always shining in every shoot. Just do your job and promote us properly like how you guys need to do." He, the golden god of the runway, the one who'd perfected the art of icy indifference, was standing before you, his hand resting nonchalantly in his pocket.
"It's weird hearing you say that," you finally managed, your voice barely above a whisper. "You've always seemed...irrational, at best, with me." Felix chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that sent shivers down your spine despite its familiarity. He looked away for a moment, his gaze flitting to his shoes, then back to you, a hesitant smile playing on his lips. "No one else gets to talk bad about you," he muttered, his voice husky with an unfamiliar emotion. "Only me." His words, though laced with playful possessiveness, held a surprising tenderness. You felt a warmth bloom in your chest, a fragile flame flickering to life amidst the ashes of doubt. In that moment, the room seemed to shrink, the throng of people fading into the periphery. It was just you and him, two souls adrift in a sea of stunned silence. "Besides," he continued, his gaze drifting to the wall clock, "you really are the best model I've ever seen. No one could say anything like that about you. You deserve better. Don't let them define you." He took your hand, his touch a spark that ignited a fire within you. "Be ready for the shoot," he murmured, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Then, let's get lunch together. My treat."
Seungmin
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The room seemed to shrink around you, the air thick with unshed tears and Seungmin's blunt words. Each sob felt like a jagged piece of your heart breaking away, the sting of betrayal raw and bitter on your tongue. Seungmin's voice dripped with disdain as he sipped his tea, his every word a barbed arrow aimed at your heartbreak. "Stupidity," he scoffed, "believing someone like him. Crying for a man who wouldn't even blink if you vanished tomorrow." He placed the cup down with a clatter, a harsh counterpoint to your choked sobs. "Shut up, Seungmin!" you spat, the tears burning your cheeks. "If you're just here to twist the knife, then get out." He rolled his eyes, the familiar sass laced with a cold fury. "Always the drama queen," he drawled, snatching the remote and blasting the TV. "Wasting your tears on someone who doesn't deserve them, on someone who's already forgotten your name. What could be a bigger waste?" You scrubbed your face raw with your sleeve, sobs wracking your body. "So who should I waste them on then? Someone like you, who relishes in my pain?" The air crackled with unspoken emotions as Seungmin sat glued to the screen, a vacant stare masking any flicker of attention to the flickering images.
His words, a barbed whisper, cut through the silence, "No, if I could be him, I wouldn't make you cry." Your sobs, raw and echoing, painted a stark contrast to his stoicism. Tears traced red streaks down your cheeks, your eyes catching his, searching for a hint of the warmth that usually resided behind his gaze. "Because I'm not as stupid as him," he continued, his voice a low rumble, "to fail someone I wanted to be with." His words were a bombshell, sending ripples through your tear-streaked world. You had never witnessed this vulnerability from him, accustomed only to the mask of annoyance he wore as your roommate. Silence stretched, thick and heavy, as you processed the unexpected confession. "Are you insane, Seungmin?" you choked out, disbelief lacing your voice, "You're talking nonsense." You reached for the cup of tea he had placed beside you, its warmth a small comfort against the storm within. His gaze, heavy and unwavering, remained fixed on you, a silent interrogation. "Maybe I am," he admitted, his voice barely audible. "I must be out of my mind to feel this way." His words hung in the air, a fragile admission of a truth he could no longer deny.
The remote clattered onto the sofa, a jarring contrast to the soft murmur of the TV. You winced at the unexpected sound, but his next words were far more startling. "You're right," he said, his voice rough but strangely tender. "I'm glad you're not with him anymore." He still didn't look at you, his gaze fixed on some unseen point across the room. "It means...maybe I have a chance." Slowly, he turned his head, his eyes meeting yours. The sight of your tear-streaked face, though, seemed to freeze him. The air crackled between you and Seungmin, electric with the sting of miscommunication and hurt. Your voice, raw from denial, rasped out, "This is not the time for your stupid jokes, Kim Seungmin." It was a desperate attempt to shield yourself, to find some semblance of logic in the chaos, because Seungmin, the one who usually held your world together, was suddenly a stranger offering hollow words. "You always refuse to see me," he sighed, his voice low, a tremor of vulnerability beneath the surface. "Maybe I'm not your ideal, the knight in shining armor you dream about. But can't you, even for a moment, look at me differently? The way you look at everyone else, with that open heart and curious eyes?"
Jeongin
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The air crackled around you, thick with disbelief and a sudden, unexpected twist. Prom night, the culmination of a thousand whispered fantasies, had always seemed a distant galaxy, something you dreamt of but never truly expected to touch. Yet, here it was, manifesting in the form of a nervous, stumbling classmate, his voice tripping over words as he extended an invitation tinged with hope. Before your mind could catch up, a familiar scent invaded your senses, a grounding presence against the swirling confusion. Jeongin, your ever-present shadow, materialized beside you, his hand a warm anchor on your shoulder. His voice, usually a playful rasp, held a steely edge as he spoke, cutting through the awkward tableau. "I'm sorry, my dear friend," he said, his gaze unwavering as it pierced through the boy in front of you, "but this y/n is going to prom with me." The world tilted on its axis. Your breath caught in your throat, a kaleidoscope of emotions warring within you. A pang of sympathy for the retreating boy, his disappointment etched on his back, mingled with the spark of defiance ignited by Jeongin's audacity. "What the hell is going on in your head, Yang Jeongin?" you finally managed, your voice barely above a whisper. "Hello to you too," he drawled, his voice laced with amusement, even as you attempted to shove his hand off your shoulder. The gesture, though meant to be firm, felt oddly futile against his unwavering presence.
"Can you just let me breathe freely for one day, Jeongin?" you pleaded, your voice laced with exasperation. He hummed, a low, rumbling sound that sent shivers down your spine despite its seeming nonchalance. Leaning back against the locker beside you, he folded his arms across his chest, a picture of infuriating serenity. "I can't," he replied, his voice a smooth whisper that seemed to burrow directly into your ear. You slammed your locker shut with a resounding bang, the metallic clanging a poor excuse for the thunderous roar in your own head. The deliberate act blocked his view, a flimsy shield against the storm brewing inside you. As you rifled through your belongings, stuffing textbooks and notebooks into their designated slots, Jeongin's nonchalant presence loomed large. "So, you really wanted to see me go to prom by myself, huh?" you spat, the words tumbling out like bitter fruit. "Is that your idea of a good time? Watching me wallow in my own social awkwardness?" You slammed your locker shut, the metal echoing in the quiet hallway like a thunderclap. Your gaze finally met Jeongin's, and the unexplainable expression clouding his face made your heart stutter. "Do you really hate me that much?" your voice came out raw, each word a shard of doubt scraping against your throat.
He took a step closer, his body blocking your path, creating a silent barrier between you and the anonymous freedom of the hallway. "I never said I wanted you to go to prom alone," his voice deepened, a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. "I wanted to be the one walking beside you, the one you laughed with under the disco ball. The one who gets to see that dazzling smile reserved for no one else." He paused, his hand resting in his pocket, a nervous habit you knew all too well. "And who said I hate you? It's not even in my vocabulary, okay? Stop with these scenarios you keep conjuring up. Just accept the fate you're stuck with – me. I'm not letting you go to prom with anyone else, and that's final." The shrill cry of the school bell pierced the air, shattering the fragile bubble you'd woven around yourself and Jeongin. His smirk widened, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes as he took in your flustered expression. It was a sight he relished, the way your cheeks flushed a delicate pink, your brows furrowed in a picture of adorable confusion. "Lost in your daydreams again, pretty?" he teased, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. "If you don't want to be late for class, it might be a good idea to trade that frown for a sprint."
©Tinytinyblogs
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tinytinyblogs · 2 months
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I'm being honest; it's embarrassing when someone discovers and likes an old post I want to remove, but...
BUT...
People continue to like the old post, and every time I receive the notification, I feel embarrassed due to its poorly written nature 😭
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tinytinyblogs · 2 months
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Is it hate or love?
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Hate or love? Their mixed signals are driving you crazy.
(Ot8 skz reaction, non-idol, lil angst)
Hyung line Maknae line
💬I genuinely enjoy this one; it brings a smile to my face as I write. However, I must admit my mind is currently devoid of any ideas. If you have any requests, feel free to suggest, whether it's a one-shot or a reaction.
Stray kids masterlist here
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Your insights and reactions make these posts come alive. Love reblogs, comments, and all the good vibes welcome ✨
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Chan
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The fluorescent lights buzzed like angry hornets, each flicker echoing the storm brewing within you. Another mountain of paperwork, another impossible deadline, another unwanted gift from Chan, the CEO who seemed to thrive on your suffering. He was an enigma, admired by the masses, yet your tormentor in disguise. You were done. Done with the endless demands, the relentless pressure, the suffocating feeling of being his personal pack mule. It was always you, drowning in work while others sat idle, their days filled with gossip and coffee breaks. Sleep was a luxury you barely remembered, your nights consumed by spreadsheets and reports. Enough. With a growl that surprised even yourself, you rose from your desk, sanity taking flight. His office, usually a sterile haven of power, became your target. No meek knock, no announcement. You barged in, the door slamming shut with a finality that mirrored the one building inside you. Chan, caught mid-keystroke, his gaze flew up, meeting yours. You held his stare, your emotions a tightly packed bomb, ready to detonate. "Shouldn't you knock?" His voice was a smooth, practiced drawl, but the surprise in his eyes was genuine.
You slammed the door shut, the sound echoing in the tense silence. Your legs took two determined steps forward, each one a declaration of your rebellion. "Yeah, I should," you spat, your voice raw with pent-up frustration. "But I'm done with formalities, Chan. Done with playing your game." He pushed his chair back, his full attention on you now. "The file, I presume?" You scoffed. "You know me too well, don't you? Always up to your neck in demands, yet blind to the idleness around you. I work myself to the bone, barely see the sun, while others twiddle their thumbs and collect paychecks." Your voice, once a whisper of resentment, now roared with righteous anger. You ripped the employee ID card from your neck, a tangible symbol of your servitude. "I'm done, Chan," you declared, flinging the card to the floor, its plastic clatter a punctuation mark on your declaration of freedom. "Done being your slave. Done with this charade. This isn't work, it's a prison, and I refuse to be your inmate any longer." The ID card's clatter echoed in the room, a final punctuation mark on your fiery declaration. "Find someone else to do your dirty work with a smile," you hissed, turning on your heel, ready to escape the suffocating confines of his office.
But a voice, surprisingly gentle, stopped you in your tracks. "No," it said, and you whirled around to find Chan still seated, his gaze fixed on you. He seemed unperturbed by your outburst, his body radiating an unexpected stillness. "I wouldn't find another employee," he continued, his words a quiet counterpoint to the storm raging within you. Your questioning look, a blend of disbelief and lingering anger, seemed to crack his facade just a bit. "You're not quitting," he said, his voice losing its usual edge. "Take a week. Rest. Come back." You scoffed, frustration twisting your gut. "Chan, I'm done. All of it. What do you even want from me?" He leaned back in his chair, his gaze unwavering. "Attention," he admitted, his voice barely a whisper. "Yours." The revelation hit you like a punch to the solar plexus. Attention? him, the man who seemed to thrive on stoicism and distance? "Wanted the attention you give everyone," he elaborated, his voice laced with a vulnerability you'd never heard before. "But no matter what I did, your eyes were always elsewhere." He glanced at his watch, a flicker of something akin to regret crossing his face. "Go home, rest. I'll visit you after I finish my work today. We can…talk about it."
Minho
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As the creak of the nursery door echoed through the silent house, your eyes adjusted to the dim light, revealing Minho slumped on the bed. A fresh gash marred his usually stoic face, sending a wave of concern and exasperation washing over you. You tossed your untied hair back with a frustrated sigh, the loose strands framing your worried expression. "Are you out of your mind?" your voice was sharp, laced with disbelief as you approached him. Minho remained silent, his gaze distant, refusing to meet yours. It was oddly endearing, this uncharacteristic vulnerability, but the anger at his recklessness still burned inside you. "It's kinda fun to hear you fight because of me, isn't it, Minho?" you quipped, your eyes scanning the room for a first-aid kit. It stood sentinel beside him, a silent witness to his recent skirmish. "Since when do you care if anyone mocks me?" you challenged, stepping closer, your voice dropping to a whisper. "Weren't you the one who started it all?" Your words hung heavy in the air, accusation mingled with confusion. As you leaned in, gently tending to his injury, the air crackled with unspoken emotions. Minho, once an impenetrable fortress, seemed to soften under your touch, his eyes holding a depth you'd never witnessed before.
"I never start anything," he finally rasped, his voice rough with unspoken apologies. "I never made fun of you in front of anyone. I wouldn't." His denial hung in the air, tinged with desperation. You looked up, meeting his gaze, his eyes seeking yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. "Aren't they your friends?" you asked, your voice barely above a breath. "Didn't they just repeat the gossip you started?" Minho let out a heavy sigh, his hand reaching out to grasp yours, stopping your ministrations. His touch sent a jolt through you, and you instinctively looked up, drawn into the maelstrom of emotions swirling in his eyes. This simple gesture, this unexpected vulnerability, opened a crack in the facade he'd carefully constructed. And in that small opening, you glimpsed a truth that threatened to rewrite everything you thought you knew about Minho. What lay beneath the surface? Regret? Guilt? Something more? The tension in the room hummed like a live wire, charged with unspoken words and the weight of shared secrets. The air, thick with anticipation, waited for the next move, the next truth to break through the silence.
The air between you and Minho crackled with tension, as thick as the silence. His grip on your hand was like a vise, holding you captive in this charged space. "They're my classmates," he finally spoke, his voice low and tight, "but that doesn't mean they blindly follow my every word. Don't paint me as some villain, spewing lies and manipulating them. Stop assuming the worst." You yearned to pull away, to break free from his hold, but the intensity in his eyes pinned you in place. "Because you always act like one, Minho!" you countered, your voice rising in frustration. "This hostility, this constant antagonism toward me – why? Why do you harbor such animosity?" His gaze, once defiant, softened, a flash of pain flickered across his face. "Who said I hate you?" His voice echoed in the quiet room, bouncing off the walls, almost drowning out the distant school bell. "If I truly hated you, wouldn't these wounds be scars on someone else's face? Wouldn't I be far away from you, causing trouble elsewhere?" He looked at you, his eyes raw and searching. "No one," he continued, his voice dropping back to a whisper, "ever told me those things about you. Open your eyes, Y/N," he gestured to his injury, "see past the persona you've built for me. I'm not the monster you think I am."
Changbin
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The lunch bell clanged through the bustling cafeteria, a jarring contrast to the turmoil brewing within you. The midday sun, streaming through the glass walls, felt like an unwelcomed spotlight on your skin, highlighting the insecurities the toxic whispers had planted. Your fingers trembled as you checked your watch, the numbers mocking your empty stomach. Lunch should be a joyous break, a chance to refuel and recharge, but the thought of food tasted like ash in your mouth. Every bite felt like a betrayal against the chorus of taunts echoing in your head, the unsolicited advice on your weight a constant weight on your chest. "What's with you?" a voice cut through your misery. Changbin, your perpetual shadow, loomed over you, his presence as unwelcome as the stale cafeteria air. "Forgot your lunch money? Or just another dramatic attempt at starvation?" His words were laced with a familiar bite, designed to prick at the raw nerve endings of your insecurities. You clenched your fists, the urge to lash back crackling in your veins. But you knew the futility of engaging, of feeding the flames of his negativity. "Go away," you muttered, your voice a mere whisper against the cacophony of laughter and chatter.
You turned your gaze towards the window, seeking solace in the blur of the bustling city below. The endless stream of people, each with their own stories, offered a strange comfort, a reminder that you weren't alone in this struggle. Changbin, however, remained a persistent fly in your ointment. "Eat something, you idiot," he rasped, his voice a touch softer than usual. "I don't want to lug your unconscious body to the nurse again." A frustrated sigh escaped your lips as you met his gaze, his untouched lunch sitting accusingly between you. "Don't tell me you're on a diet, Y/N?" his voice was laced with concern, but it grated on your already frayed nerves. "Yeah, well, they keep reminding me how fat and ugly I am," you spat, bitterness clinging to your words like smoke. "Satisfied now? Go eat your lunch somewhere else." He didn't move, his stillness a stark contrast to your turmoil. Instead, he rose from his chair, his gaze unwavering. To your surprise, he didn't leave. Instead, he returned moments later with another lunch set, placing it gently in front of you. "Sometimes, you can be unbelievable," he muttered, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Just eat whatever you want and be happy. Why let their words dictate your joy?" His words hung in the air, a gentle challenge to the self-imposed prison you'd built around your insecurities.
You looked at the food, the vibrant colors and inviting aromas a stark contrast to the darkness in your mind. The tension in the air had softened, replaced by something unexpected - a fragile truce. He sat across from you, his lunch forgotten as he focused on yours. "Beside," he mumbled, eyes glued to the colourful mountain of food on your plate, "you totally look fine in my eyes." His words hung in the air, a stark contrast to the usual barbs and banter that defined your dynamic. You, the prickly defender, and him, the relentless challenger, had somehow stumbled into an unfamiliar territory - one where kindness was laced with gruffness, and concern masked by playful threats. It felt surreal, like waking up in a parallel universe where the sun rose in the west and Changbin, of all people, was complimenting your looks. "Beautiful as always," he added, his gaze meeting yours, a flicker of something... new... dancing in his eyes. It was a look devoid of mockery, devoid of the usual cynicism, and it made your stomach do a strange somersault. He waited, a silent encouragement for you to dig in. You hesitated, the familiar spoon feeling heavy in your hand. "If you skip a meal again, I'm not kidding, I'll make sure you eat something myself."
Hyunjin
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The morning light, usually a welcome friend, felt like a harsh spotlight on your throbbing head. The ache in your body was a symphony of protests, each muscle groaning its disapproval at the mere thought of movement. A groggy groan escaped your lips as you tumbled out of bed, the world tilting precariously before righting itself. The fridge, however, refused to cooperate. Its barren shelves mocked your rumbling stomach, a cruel reminder of your impending grocery trip. You winced, the effort of just standing feeling like a Herculean feat. Then, like a bad penny, he materialized. Hwang Hyunjin, your resident thorn in the side, stood there, a smirk playing on his lips. "You look dead," he chirped, his voice somehow grating on your already frayed nerves. Ignoring him, you focused on putting one foot in front of the other, each step a battle against the leaden weight of your body. Hyunjin, however, wasn't done. A hand, surprisingly cool against your burning forehead, stopped you in your tracks.
"Street walking with a fever? Not your brightest move, dumbass," he drawled, his voice laced with a sardonic concern that only he could pull off. You swatted his hand away, a weak attempt at defiance. "Not claiming any awards for genius today," you mumbled, your voice thick with fatigue. "But starving is worse." Hyunjin's smirk softened. He could be infuriating, that was for sure, but even through the haze of your illness, you couldn't help but notice a flicker of something else in his eyes - maybe concern, maybe something more. Every step felt like a betrayal, your body screaming its protest with each groan. Yet, you pushed on, fuelled by a desperate need for the cool embrace of sheets and the sweet oblivion of sleep. Then, amidst the symphony of aches, a hand materialized, grabbing the very item you craved from the shelf. Another hand, warm and surprisingly gentle, nudged you closer to the checkout. You whirled around, expecting the worst, but instead, you found Hwang Hyunjin, the familiar scent of Hyunjin's cologne a sudden anchor in your sea of dizziness.
"You really gonna make a scene by collapsing in public?" he muttered, his voice surprisingly gentle. He pulled you closer, his arm a surprisingly strong shield against the encroaching crowd. His body heat, a stark contrast to your feverish chills, radiated comfort you couldn't deny. You stumbled a little, your vision swimming, but his presence, a steady anchor in the storm, kept you upright. "You don't need to care," you whispered, your voice barely audible above the supermarket din. You looked up at him, his face etched with a concern that made your heart skip a beat. He hummed, a low rumble that somehow soothed the storm raging within you. "I think so," he confessed, his eyes meeting yours with a vulnerability you hadn't seen before. "But you always make me worried, and care." He squeezed your arm gently, the gesture both firm and reassuring. His gaze meeting yours for a fleeting moment. His eyes, usually filled with mischief, held a depth you hadn't seen before. "Hurry up, I'll cook the meal. You should get your medicine, thank me later after you feel better."
©Tinytinyblogs
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tinytinyblogs · 2 months
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People continue to like the old post, and every time I receive the notification, I feel embarrassed due to its poorly written nature 😭
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tinytinyblogs · 2 months
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Hibernate is required for this task.
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tinytinyblogs · 2 months
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Gonna show them you're mine
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Seonghwa is tired of keeping you and his relationship a secret; he's ready to take action.
(non-idol au, include one curse word) 2,4k words
💬@s1riushwa Thanks for this request! I hope you like the story I wrote for you. If you have more requests, feel free to let me know—I'm here to help!
Ateez masterlist here
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Your insights and reactions make these posts come alive. Love reblogs, comments, and all the good vibes welcome ✨
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He's really liked by a lot of people because he represents everything many wish to be. With his good looks, kindness, and caring nature, he seems like the perfect person. When he walks into a room, a bunch of people gather to look at him and appreciate how amazing he is. He has lots of different friends, and it seems like his life is really cool. It's like he's walking on a special path with flowers, a path that others can only dream of. When he's around, people can't help but think he's extraordinary, making him stand out as a really special person. Park Seonghwa is known all over the university, and even students from other schools know him. He's the main person everyone pays attention to, catching the eye of the whole university community. In simple terms, he's not just popular for his looks but also for being an outstanding person at the university. His popularity goes beyond just his own school; it reaches and connects with students from other schools too.
It's not only in his immediate academic surroundings that he gets attention. Instead, his influence and importance go beyond that, making him a central figure in the larger student community. You find yourself to be entirely different and the opposite of him, Park Seonghwa – a regular student leading a simple life that's quite different from his impressive and glamorous existence. Your group of friends is small, and your quiet and understated personality often means some students don't notice you, as you tend to keep to yourself. In every way, you give off an ordinary vibe. Both you and Seonghwa share the same university space, but it's like comparing day and night because even though you're aware of his presence, your lives are quite different. Every so often, you watch him from a distance, observing how people are drawn to him, creating a scene that feels like an unreachable experience in your own quieter world.
Your day usually involves basic activities like coming to the university, attending classes, exchanging greetings with a few familiar faces, and then heading home after it's all done. However, in this routine, there's a noticeable lack of the attention and recognition that seems to naturally come Seonghwa's way every day. Unlike him, your presence doesn't attract the same level of notice or interest from those around you. The difference is clear as you navigate through the academic world – Seonghwa effortlessly grabs attention, while you go about your routine with a feeling of being somewhat unnoticed, blending into the background. Life is like a complex picture, and surprises often hide in the corners, away from the eyes of the world. What no one really knows is that, in the busy university life, there's a secret relationship between you and Seonghwa.
Away from public view, you both share private moments as a couple, and Seonghwa proves to be the most wonderful boyfriend you've ever had. The choice to keep your relationship a secret comes from an agreement between you and Seonghwa. Mainly, it's a way to protect you from any potential negativity or unwanted attention that often comes with being connected to someone like Seonghwa. Knowing that some people can get possessive and intense about him, Seonghwa wants to keep you away from any hate or criticism that might come your way. Additionally, both of you understand the importance of keeping the real and personal aspects of your connection safe and intact. By keeping your relationship a secret, you create a special place where the true nature of your connection remains protected from outside influences.
This decision is intentional, aiming for your relationship to develop naturally, shielded from the sometimes harsh judgment of the public eye. So, you and Seonghwa continue to navigate the complexities of your romance in the comforting privacy, appreciating the authentic bond you share away from the prying eyes of the world. But one thing you may overlook is that even though you're not in the spotlight, it doesn't mean others aren't aware of your presence. Just as Seonghwa was captivated by you and charmed by your personality, there are undoubtedly others who have also taken notice. In the intricate dance of human connections, the mysterious and undiscovered often attract people, drawing them towards you, even if the details of your romantic involvement with Seonghwa remain hidden. In the middle of the busy crowd surrounding Seonghwa, there was a moment that made this clear.
He watched as a stranger approached and started chatting with you as if it was a regular conversation. From an outsider's view, it looked normal – just people talking casually. But little did this person know, your heart belonged to Seonghwa, and the conversation only covered what was necessary. The hidden aspects of your relationship added complexity to these seemingly ordinary interactions that unfolded in the colorful tapestry of your shared university experience. As time passed, Seonghwa began to notice a repeated pattern. There was someone who consistently lingered around you, having long conversations and giving subtle glances that, though not obvious, didn't escape Seonghwa's keen awareness. Having experienced those meaningful glances before, Seonghwa understood their importance. As this situation unfolded, a feeling of discomfort started to settle within him.
Even with many people around in different social settings, Seonghwa's focus stayed firmly on you. Seeing you exchange smiles with this persistent person stirred up a mix of emotions in him — a complicated blend of sadness and frustration. The conflict deepened for Seonghwa, who values openness and honesty. He found himself torn between wanting to express his feelings and recognizing the complexity of the situation. The contrast between the lively social scene and the quiet ache in his heart became more noticeable, creating a sense of discord that tested Seonghwa's emotional strength. However, Seonghwa now faces a dilemma. His frustration is not directed at you; instead, he's upset with himself. To your eyes, the other guy seems friendly, but Seonghwa knows the hidden motives behind the guy's seemingly pleasant behavior.
At a certain point, Seonghwa felt a strong urge to step in, to confidently approach you and pull you away from the constant presence of that persistent person. However, a strong restraint held him back — a clear awareness of the potential consequences if the public found out about the secret nature of your relationship. The internal struggle grew into a growing concern, becoming a heavy burden on Seonghwa's heart. The stark difference between the private haven of your affectionate moments behind the scenes of university life and the external appearance of two seemingly unrelated strangers on campus became an increasingly pressing issue. While the idea of maintaining this double life seemed okay at first, Seonghwa started to doubt how sustainable it was. The gap between the close connection you had in private and the apparent distance in public became more noticeable.
This led Seonghwa to realize that what initially seemed fine was now causing discomfort. The delicate balance he had tried to keep was starting to fall apart, making him face the complexities of a relationship that thrives in secrecy but desires acknowledgment in the open. As Seonghwa's jealousy became more apparent, you couldn't help but notice a change in his gaze. Even in busy crowds, his eyes seemed to tell a tale of longing and possessiveness, expressing the unspoken emotions swirling within him. At times, he would purposely take you to quiet places during breaks, a subtle but intentional effort to enjoy moments of focused attention that he felt were being given to the other person. Despite the obvious signs of jealousy, his responses to your questions remained guarded, with seemingly casual phrases like "I'm fine" or "Just wanted to be with you" whenever you asked about his feelings.
The contrast between Seonghwa's quiet expressions of longing and his outward assurances that everything was okay created a complex interplay of emotions. His desire for the attention you gave to the other person became a strong motivation behind these private moments, sharply contrasting with the calm responses he gave when questioned. The dynamic between the unspoken wish for a special connection and the act of appearing casual added a complex layer to the evolving story of your relationship, leaving both of you navigating the fragile terrain of emotions and unspoken feelings. All Seonghwa wants is to have your complete attention, just for himself. As Seonghwa, your dedicated partner, got more and more wrapped up in a mix of emotions, he found himself daydreaming about being openly recognized. He felt a twinge of jealousy watching other couples freely showing their love in public, holding hands as if the world revolved around their shared moments.
The longing to break free from the secrecy started growing within him, pushing him to express the thoughts that had been swirling in his mind. One evening, in the cozy setting of your home after a day at the university, Seonghwa cautiously brought up the topic. With his hand gently on your cheek, he pondered out loud, "What if we let people know that we're dating?" The question hung in the air, carrying the weight of his unspoken desires. Your response served as a gentle reminder of the agreement you both made to keep your relationship private, framing the conversation within the context of the deliberate choice you had made together. The contrast between Seonghwa's longing for public recognition and the commitment to maintaining secrecy added a poignant color to the delicate dynamics of your shared connection. The tipping point for Seonghwa came on a particular day when he noticed the other guy crossing certain boundaries.
The situation became more intense as Seonghwa saw lingering gazes filled with affection directed at you, even when your attention was elsewhere. The moment became especially difficult for him as he witnessed the guy's enamored smile in response to the sweet gestures or actions you took. In Seonghwa's heart, those gestures were supposed to be exclusively reserved for him, and the realization that someone else was intruding on what he considered his own territory proved too much for him to bear. The turning point, however, happened when the guy went so far as to use his hand to gently move strands of your hair away from your face. This seemingly innocent action, with an underlying tone of familiarity and intimacy, stirred up a storm within Seonghwa. The surge of possessiveness and jealousy that had been building up underneath erupted, and Seonghwa found himself unable to hold back the swirl of emotions any longer.
This explosive reaction was a clear expression of the emotional turmoil that had been brewing. Seonghwa struggled with the unsettling idea that someone else was intruding into the space of affection and connection that he believed should belong exclusively to him. In a moment of intense emotion, Seonghwa forcefully moved through the crowd, creating a path that brought him closer to you. Without a second thought, he grabbed your hand, urging you to follow him as he quickly guided you towards the privacy of the school rooftop. He was determined to distance both of you from the presence of that other guy who had been encroaching on what Seonghwa considered his own territory. In the heat of the moment, there was a strong intensity as Seonghwa pulled you along, gently but firmly pressing you against a wall along the way. Seeing your worried expression, you sought answers from Seonghwa, asking, "Hwa, what's wrong?" A heavy silence hung in the air as Seonghwa, still catching his breath, wrestled with the powerful emotions that had driven him into this sudden escape.
The presence of the other guy had stirred up a storm within him, leaving him momentarily unable to speak. "They're going to see us," you pointed out, trying to make sense of the situation. However, Seonghwa, with a determined shake of his head, dismissed any concerns about potential onlookers. "I don't care," he asserted, his voice carrying a newfound determination. "I no longer care whether they know or not." Placing a hand gently on your chin and drawing you even closer, he expressed his unfiltered feelings, "I want them to know that you are mine." The weight of his words, filled with possessiveness and a desire for public recognition, hung in the air, marking a significant moment in your relationship as Seonghwa unabashedly took control of the narrative of your shared connection. A significant realization dawned on Seonghwa as he looked into your eyes, reflecting on the depth of his emotions.
A feeling of regret swept over him, tied to the choice to keep your relationship a secret. In the earnestness of your gaze, he found himself revisiting the beginning of his affection for you, realizing that, right from the start, he should have proudly declared your connection to the world, without caring about others' opinions or attention. "I should announce to the whole world that you are mine," Seonghwa admitted with a hint of remorse, recognizing the weight of the emotions he had concealed. The intensity of your stare served as a poignant reminder of the missed chances to openly celebrate your love. In response, he declared, "No, I won't let anyone else love what's mine. I won't let anyone else entertain the idea that they have a chance." The firmness in his tone reflected a newfound determination to claim his stake and protect the sanctity of your connection.
Seonghwa, unwavering in his dedication, declared that regardless of others' approval or the acceptance of the other guy, you were undeniably his beloved. This statement served as a strong assertion of ownership and a commitment to no longer hide the love that rightfully belonged to him. Disregarding societal judgments, Seonghwa boldly stated, "I don't care about what other people think! Tomorrow, I'll proudly hold your hand all the way to university." The passion in his words was sealed with a heartfelt kiss, a tangible symbol of his resolve to cast aside the secrecy that had concealed your relationship. As the rooftop door opened, revealing both of you, Seonghwa met the other guy's gaze without hesitation. Instead of avoiding it, Seonghwa embraced the revelation, wanting the guy to understand the depth of your connection.
In that moment, Seonghwa's casual attitude carried a clear message: your love was no longer a secret to be kept. With the truth out in the open, Seonghwa's lack of concern about the possibility of news spreading about your relationship became apparent. In his eyes, others' opinions didn't matter much. The most important thing was that you belonged to him, and as long as that remained true, everything else could fall into place however it might. The recognition of your love, free from external judgments, marked a significant change in your relationship dynamics. Seonghwa embraced an unwavering determination to openly claim you, unaffected by the opinions of the world around you. Because, once again, whether they like it or not, you are his, no matter what.
©Tinytinyblogs
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tinytinyblogs · 2 months
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Please don't melt
A kiss from you would be nice
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They successfully achieved their goal of receiving a kiss from you.
(Atz reaction, non-idol)
Hyung line Maknae line
Ateez masterlist here
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Your insights and reactions make these posts come alive. Love reblogs, comments, and all the good vibes welcome ✨
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Hongjoong
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The shrill ring of the doorbell sliced through the air like a playful melody, snapping you out of the warm bubble you'd created with Seonghwa. With a smile still lingering on your lips, you hurried to the door, eager to see who stood on the other side. Twisting the doorknob, the outside world flooded in, revealing a grinning Hongjoong with a bouquet of sunflowers that rivaled the summer sun in brilliance. His smile widened upon seeing you, a genuine beam that crinkled the corners of his eyes. You mirrored his expression, your heart swelling with happiness at the unexpected visit. "Hey!" you exclaimed, stepping aside to usher him in. He sauntered past, his arms laden with more than just flowers. A large paper bag peeked out from his grip, overflowing with promise. You followed him inside, curiosity bubbling over. He made a beeline for the table, dropping the bag with a dramatic flourish that mirrored his playful personality. You plopped down beside him, anticipation tingling in your fingertips. "What's all this?" you asked, leaning in for a closer look. Hongjoong grinned, then slowly unraveled the package, revealing a treasure trove of delights. There was the jacket you'd admired in a tiny boutique, the one covered in whimsical sketches he'd claimed to have doodled on rainy days. Nestled beside it were the adorable plushies you'd squealed over on display, their fluffy faces mirroring your own surprise.
"It's your birthday present!" he declared, his voice ringing with excitement. "I didn't know what to get you, so I got you everything!" A laugh bubbled up from your chest, warming your cheeks. His gaze clung to you like stardust to a midnight sky, each flicker of your smile catching the light in his eyes and setting his heart ablaze. It was a smile he craved, a rare bloom in the desert of his days, and to see it blossom across your face was a treasure beyond compare. The curve of your lips, the soft dimple that danced in your cheek – these were his constellations, guiding him through the vast unknown. "Hongjoong, you really didn't have to go to all this trouble!" you protested, even as your fingers trailed over the soft fabric of the jacket. "But I wanted to!" he insisted, sitting closer to you, his knee brushing yours in a subtle gesture. His cologne became a tangible melody around you, weaving through the air and wrapping you in its warm embrace. It was a scent of wood and spice, of sunshine and laughter, an olfactory portrait of the man himself. Its intensity mirrored the way his gaze held yours, an unwavering presence that felt like a blessing on your face. His figure, usually shrouded in an aura of nonchalance, seemed magnified. The angles of his jawline chiseled by unseen light, the slope of his shoulders a canvas for cascading moonlight. He carried himself with the grace of a dancer, each movement deliberate and captivating. Yet, amidst this breathtaking portrait, an unexpected warmth flickered in his eyes.
Your lips stretched into a little smile, mirroring the sunshine spilling from Hongjoong's eyes. His happiness was infectious, a golden bloom radiating outwards, warming the room despite the autumn chill. You tilted your head, curiosity dancing in your eyes. "What's now, Hongjoong?" you teased, your voice laced with playful anticipation. He grinned, a mischievous glint in his gaze. "Ah, but this, darling, is the finale," he declared, his voice rich with unspoken promises. "The grand curtain call, the pièce de résistance!"he said. "Another gift?" you exclaimed, your brows raised in mock disbelief. He chuckled, a low rumble that tickled your stomach. "But not just any gift," he clarified, his eyes holding yours with a newfound intensity. "This, my love, is the most precious one of all." Before you could blink, his lips descended upon yours, soft and warm like a summer breeze. The kiss was a whispered promise, a silent explosion of fireworks painting the night sky behind your closed eyelids. Time slipped away, becoming a tangled ribbon lost in the whirlwind of emotions swirling within you. This, this was a first kiss like no other, a meeting of souls under the soft glow of candlelight, a whisper of forever stolen in the space between breaths. He finally pulled away, his eyes smoldering with an affection that made your heart skip a beat. "It's me," he breathed, his voice raw with emotion. "The last gift, the most important one."
Seonghwa
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Seonghwa hummed a gentle melody, the notes swirling around the room like autumn leaves dancing in the breeze. It reached your ears, pulling you into the warmth of the kitchen where he stood, a picture of domesticity. He'd declared earlier that he wanted to cook for you both, to spend the rest of the day wrapped in each other's company, and the aroma of sizzling garlic and spices already hinted at the deliciousness to come. Drawn by the music and the promise of food, you tiptoed closer, a smile playing on your lips. Standing behind him, you stretched up on your tiptoes, peering over his shoulder to see the culinary magic he was weaving. "Need a hand, chef?" you teased, your voice tinged with amusement. Seonghwa glanced over his shoulder, his eyes crinkling at the corners with warmth. "No, it's all under control, darling," he assured you, his voice a silken caress. The "really?" that escaped your lips was almost inaudible, a sigh of contentment more than a question. You rested your head on his arm, your cheek finding a haven in the crook of his elbow. The world shrunk to the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the steady rhythm of his movements, and the whisper of his laughter as he turned on you fully. "Why the long face, love?" he chuckled, pulling you into a warm embrace. His hands settled on your back, grounding you against him. "Feeling bored already?" You nodded, your face buried in the comforting expanse of his chest. "Maybe just a little," you mumbled, your voice muffled by his shirt.
"Hmm," he hummed, the sound vibrating through you like a lullaby. "Then stay right here," he whispered, his lips close to your ear. "The food will be ready soon, and then we can snuggle up on the couch and watch every terrible movie we can find. How does that sound?" The pout on your face was as adorable as a kitten's, pulling at Seonghwa's heartstrings and making him chuckle. He reached up, his large hand dwarfing your cheek as he cupped it softly. The warmth of his touch seemed to radiate inwards, melting away your little frown. His eyes, those beautiful pools of melted chocolate, held yours for a moment, a silent conversation playing out between their depths. Then, with a slow, deliberate lean, he closed the distance between your lips. The world narrowed to the space where your breaths mingled, the taste of him sweet and intoxicating. The kiss was like a slow burn, starting as a gentle brush of lips, then igniting into a smoldering ember that spread through you. His hand on your cheek deepened, tracing the curve of your jaw with a feather-light touch that sent shivers down your spine. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, the feel of his solid form an anchor in the swirling current of sensation. He tasted of sunshine and spices, of laughter and promises whispered in the twilight. His tongue danced with yours, a playful duet echoing the melody that still hummed in the air. Each touch, each breath, was a whispered affirmation of everything unspoken, a story written in the language of desire.
His breath fanned against your lips as he pulled away, leaving behind a trail of fire and unspoken promises. A soft chuckle rumbled in his chest, and he cupped your cheek with his hand, his thumb tracing the curve of your jaw. "Cute," he whispered, the word echoing with a possessive tenderness in the quiet kitchen. "You're so damn cute, I can't even focus on cooking anymore." He glanced back at the stove, the pot of simmering sauce bubbling gently as if in agreement. With a decisive click, he turned off the heat, his attention fully back on you. "If you didn't stop being so adorable," he continued, his gaze holding yours captive, "I think I'd just keep kissing you until the kitchen caught fire." His hand reached out, finding yours like a magnet drawn to its opposite pole. With a gentle tug, he pulled you into another hug, his strong arms enveloping you in a warm embrace. He swayed you slowly from side to side, a contented sigh escaping his lips. "Just… stay like this," he murmured, his voice muffled against your hair. "Let me hold you, let me be close to you for just a little while. Then, we'll eat, we'll watch movies, we'll do whatever you want… as long as you promise to keep being this ridiculously cute." His words, each one laced with affection, sent shivers down your spine. You nestled closer, his warmth seeping into your bones like sunshine on a cold day. In that moment, surrounded by the scent of spices and the melody of his laughter, the world outside ceased to exist. It was just you and him, two souls intertwined in a dance of unspoken promises and stolen moments.
Yunho
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Your knuckles turned white as you clutched Yunho's hand, a plastered smile stretching across your face. His fingers rested comfortably on your waist, a stark contrast to the jitters in your stomach. You'd successfully cajoled your friend into playing pretend boyfriend for the evening, proving to the gossips that 'Loner (Y/N)' was a thing of the past. But Yunho's performance seemed too genuine, too familiar. Had he always played out imaginary scenarios where you were his, where these stolen touches were more than just a charade? Every brush of his palm against yours sent a shockwave through you, making your heart threaten to leap out of your chest. Even his casual hold tightened a knot in your throat. You snuck a look at your phone screen, a silent signal that it was time to escape the prying eyes at the friendly gathering. Yunho understood instantly, his goodbye smiles as easy as yours were forced. As you walked, his hand lingered on your back like a brand, refusing to relinquish its hold. "Thanks," you breathed, attempting to turn your body and face him, but he mirrored your movement, creating an unexpected intimacy. "At least they'll stop pushing blind dates and 'fix-its' on me now." Your eyes locked, the air around you charged. The space between you, once comfortable, now felt electric. "Your hand," you stammered, "You can let go now." Yunho hummed, his gaze tracing the path of his fingers on your wrist, then meeting yours with a slow, enigmatic smile.
"I find it comfortable," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent goosebumps dancing across your skin. "So, maybe we can just... keep it like this for a while longer, hmm?" His eyes, usually brimming with mischievous laughter, were suddenly serious, holding yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. They glittered, not with amusement, but with something much deeper, something that sent a tremor through your entire being. You cleared your throat, the playful question dying on your lips. "What's wrong with you, huh?" you asked, hoping the light tone would mask the fluttering in your stomach. He didn't respond at first, just stared at you with an unnervingly earnest gaze. Then, he hesitantly reached out, his fingers brushing against yours in a whisper of a touch. Instead of pulling away as you expected, he surprised you by intertwining his fingers with yours, linking them together in a way that felt strangely intimate. "Being your fake boyfriend," he began, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine, "made me realize a few things." He paused, the silence stretching between you, thick with unspoken emotions. You could feel his thumb gently tracing circles on your cheek, its warmth branding your skin, rendering you speechless. Then, he spoke again, his voice softer now, almost a confession. "All this time," he breathed, "I've dreamt of being your real boyfriend. Imagining holding you close, claiming you as mine, just like I did today." His words resonated through you, each syllable echoing in the chambers of your heart. His other hand found your chin, tilting your face up towards his, drawing you closer, closer still.
The distance between your lips shrank, the air crackling with electricity. This wasn't the practiced kiss you'd imagined for your fake relationship, there was no performance, no pretense. This was raw, honest, and terrifyingly real. He was here, professing his true feelings, blurring the lines between reality and your secret desires. Every fiber of your being yearned to meet him halfway, to surrender to the promise of his lips on yours. The spark from his kiss lingered on your lips, a phantom fire dancing across your skin. You pulled away slowly, your heart thrumming like a hummingbird trapped in your chest. His eyes, still smoldering with unspoken desire, held yours captive in that impossibly close space. "That's..." he began, his voice a husky murmur, barely louder than the frantic echo of your own pulse. A subtle smile softened his features, catching on the edge of his lips as his gaze flickered to the blush blooming across your cheek. It was a sight he swore could paint constellations across the night sky, a whisper of a vulnerability that made his own heart skip a beat. "That's what I've always wanted to do," he whispered, his breath warm against your cheek, a feather of promise tracing the contours of your ear. Each word was a brushstroke across your soul, painting a future you'd once only dared to dream of. Your senses swam; the scent of his cologne, the heat of his hand still lingering on your chin, the taste of his kiss lingering on your lips - everything conspired to pull you deeper into his orbit. "So," he murmured, his voice laced with anticipation, "why don't we make it real? Why don't we be together, not just pretend?"
Yeosang
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The downpour outside was a symphony of percussion against the café windows, each raindrop a drumbeat on the glass pane. You sat nestled in the worn leather booth, gaze drawn away from the swirling steam of your hot chocolate and towards the blurred grey world beyond. Kang Yeosang occupied the seat beside you, the familiar warmth of his presence radiating like a tiny sun against the chill of the storm. Despite the shiver that danced down your spine, Yeosang's company was a soothing balm. Each conversation felt like a brushstroke, building a vibrant tapestry of your shared past. His voice, usually a playful lilt, softened to a contemplative murmur as he spoke, "The rain, trapped here with just each other...it's like being back in university." You hummed in agreement, memories flooding back with the evocative scent of wet pavement and damp coffee grounds. You could almost feel the clammy press of textbooks against your thigh, the nervous tremor in your fingers as you fidgeted with a pen, stolen glances at Yeosang across the crowded library table. It was then, amidst the whispered discussions and rustling papers, that your heart first learned to tap out a frantic rhythm against your ribs, an inexplicable melody dedicated solely to him. Yeosang chuckled, a soft sound that melted into the hiss of the rain. "Remember that time we got caught in the downpour after class? Stuck in this very café, talking until the sun peeked through the clouds." His words were a whispered key, unlocking a treasure chest of shared smiles, hushed jokes, and unspoken feelings.
You saw it again, your younger self with cheeks flushed pink and eyes filled with a dawning awareness. Every stolen glance, every whispered exchange, felt like a whispered confession, leaving your heart hammering a wild tattoo against your ribs. He paused, tilting his head towards the drumming rain. "You were so cute that day, you know? Just like you always are." The vast cafe became a forgotten canvas as the storm outside waged its war against the windows. Rain, the sole audience, pelted the glass in a relentless rhythm, a silver curtain isolating you and Kang Yeosang in your own intimate world. No other soul dared venture into this downpour, leaving you two adrift in a sea of shared memories and quiet anticipation. His question, soft as falling rain, broke the silence. "Do you remember it?" Yeosang turned, his smile a beacon in the dimly lit cafe. It was a perfect smile, one etched in your mind alongside the memory he was about to evoke. You nodded, the echo of that day forever resonating within you. "Me too," he murmured, fingers nervously tracing circles on the table, a warmth radiating from them despite the storm's chill. "I remember it too," he whispered, his voice a delicate thread woven through the rain's insistent drumming. It was faint, almost swallowed by the downpour, yet every syllable resonated deep within you. "It's etched in my soul," he continued, his gaze locking with yours, "because I always wanted to..." He seemed to be searching for words, for a way to bridge the gulf of years and unspoken yearning.
Then, leaning closer, his voice became a conspiratorial whisper against the drumbeat of the rain. The world narrowed to the space between your breaths, the air thick with unspoken truths. His lips met yours, soft and tentative at first, then deepening as the dam of unspoken desires finally broke. The rain, which had been a persistent thrum in the background, faded into a distant echo, replaced by the frantic symphony of your heart. Pulling away, his eyes smoldered with an intensity that mirrored the storm outside. "I really wanted to kiss you just like that," he confessed, his voice rough with barely contained emotion. The words, whispered but heavy with meaning, hung in the air like raindrops clinging to leaves. His gaze held you captive, an intense emerald beacon in the rain-kissed cafe. The storm outside drummed a frantic rhythm, but it was the thunder in his eyes that made your breath hitch. Inches separated you, his breath warm against your cheek, and you felt rooted in place, a fragile flower under the scrutiny of the sun. The memory tugged at the corners of your mind, a whisper from your university days now blossoming into a vibrant truth. That shared gaze, that stolen moment in the sun-drenched library, it wasn't just a silly crush story, a whispered hope lost in the cacophony of student life. It was real, a seed that had taken root in both of your hearts, growing silently but steadily through the years. His voice, when it finally broke the spell, was a husky murmur, like a secret shared in the quiet hush of a confession booth. "I always wanted to tell you after that," he admitted, his eyes searching yours with the intensity of a thousand untold stories. "Always wanted to tell you that I like you, so much more than words can say."
©Tinytinyblogs
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tinytinyblogs · 2 months
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I strongly feel the need to engage in productive activities with my time, yet I find myself doing nothing and lacking friends. It's quite challenging to be me.
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tinytinyblogs · 2 months
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Wasn't anticipating someone genuinely requesting part two, but duly noted—I'll consider it.
Skz Soft Hours: Minho
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He longs to be with you, even though he may not be the best at expressing it at first.
(Slightly mentioned misunderstanding between them)
Stray kids masterlist here
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"Why are you so quiet?" He gives you a silent stare, making the air feel suffocating. Ever since you heard that you need to marry him, he has been silent, agreeing to everything, but saying nothing himself. "About what?" he asks finally. He used to hate you, at least as far as you know. He was always there, judging you and making your life difficult. And yet now he is agreeing to spend the rest of his life with you. "Don't be so silly," You says. "Of course it's about your parents wanting you to marry me." You and Minho are from different worlds. He comes from a rich family, while your parents work for them.
You have no power over them, and even though Minho's parents treat you well, it's still strange to hear that they want you and Minho to be together. Unlike you, Minho has the power to say no, but he chooses not to. "Nothing I can say about it," he says. You walk closer to him and take his phone away from him. You sit down next to him and make him look at you. "Explain yourself," you say. "You've always hated me, and now you're changing your mind and want to be with me forever? Or what?"
Minho savored every word you said, wondering if he had always been that bad around you. He might not be the best at choosing the right words to say, or at expressing his feelings, but he had never hated you, not even a little. "I never changed my mind," he said. "I was the one who told my parents that I want to marry you, and it was my decision alone." He had spent a lot of time with you in his huge house, and he had told his parents that he wanted to marry you, thinking they would laugh at him. But he had been deadly serious. He was surrounded by beautiful people, but his heart always came back to you.
Minho always wanted to be perfect, even as a child. He was confused about how to get your attention when you were so focused on improving yourself, until now, when you're working successfully at his parents' company. "They are only saying this to you because I am too nervous to ask you to marry me myself." The only time you ever looked at him was when you were annoyed by him. But you were also scared of being judged, especially by him. You wanted to be a better person, but you weren't sure why. You just felt like you weren't worthy of him, who had everything. The walls between you two were so thick and strong. "And I never hated you," he said.
It was the first time you had heard him say it out loud, and it felt like a new world was opening up to you. He was always busy with his work, but this moment felt like a gift. "Yes, I really want to spend my whole life with you. That's what I've been dreaming of ever since." Minho had everything he wanted except you. He craved you, dreamed of building a family with you, and prayed for you every day. He looked at you again and again, even though you rarely spoke. He knew that he had been judging and hating you, but he didn't mean it. He didn't have a dream before you. He never knew what he wanted until you came along. The only problem was that you two felt so far apart.
You hardly spoke, let alone in a good way. "I don't need you to force anything, but let's get to know each other after this." You felt like you were floating between dream and reality. You had always compared yourself to Minho and his life, and you envied the people who made him happy. But it seemed like your vision of him wasn't entirely accurate. Minho doesn't care about your social status or your family background. He cares about you because you're the only person who never judges him.
"I really need you, you never judge me when I'm at my lowest." Even though you two don't talk much, you both care about each other deeply. When you saw him crying once, you stayed silent and bought him his favorite food, something his parents might not even know he loves. And when you're feeling down, he'll wait for you from afar and walk with you, even though you know he's there. "I'm not a bad person, I promise you," he says. "And I will treat you so well, like you deserve. Can't you give me a chance?"
His huge room is a witness to your silly story, like a rainbow that appears after the rain, showing you a new side of Minho. "If you're sure about this, we can try" You said in a low voice almost whisper, you may be jumping to conclusions without seeing the full picture but you know that he is a good person. If you're willing to understand him a little more you can overcome any misunderstanding. Minho dreams of being happy with you, just like you imagine yourself around him. Sometimes, dreams come true.
He kissed you shyly after a long time, imagining what it would be like if you were his. He felt a burden on his heart lift as he finally said out loud how he felt. He could be so open with you, and he didn't have to act like a robot all the time. Life could be more colorful with you by his side, like a painter adding vibrant colors to an empty canvas. He was finally beginning to understand what kind of art he wanted to create in life, and it was all because of the love that had been hidden inside of him all along.
💬I apologize if this doesn't sound as soft as the title suggests. Let me know if you would like me to write a second part after getting married. I promise it will be even softer.
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