#bittersweet guardian
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Text
KNIGHT COOKIES 🗡️👑❄️🌹🥀





i love knight cookie so so so so much you guys cannot understand
#art#cookie run#cookie run fanart#cookie run kingdom#cookie run ovenbreak#knight cookie#cookie run costume#rose armor#icewind cavalier#bittersweet guardian#royal knight cookie
617 notes
·
View notes
Text




Bittersweet Guardian
Oh shit, y’all, a blue moon. That means I post Cookie Run again
#cookie run#knight cookie#bittersweet guardian#cookie run ovenbreak#cookie run kingdom#my art#could’ve made it gorier but when I read his description it kinda sounds like he’s hesitant#so he’s try not to do TOO much damage#but I’m also an intense believer in Badass Knight Supremacy#and I want him to be cool#LIKE HE WAS SUPPOSED TO >:((((((#also was trying something with this so apologies if it looks a little wonky
33 notes
·
View notes
Text
Jelsa oneshots inspired by songs
It's ok by Tom Rosenthal
Jelsa, oneshot, modern AU
“Morning,” he said, almost under his breath. “The weather’s good today. It’s not cold, it’s not warm either. Just enough to throw on a coat. I went on a grocery run early, and forgot the milk. Again. When you said I’d probably forget my head if it wasn’t screwed on, you were right. But it's okay — I’ll buy it later. Work’s good. I’m trying to be more patient, but Eric still pisses me off. Even when he’s not trying to. It’s fine. Boring. Hiccup’s still eating that weird tuna salad in meetings and pretending it’s not the worst thing ever invented. Anna recruited Emma to her weird yoga plot, and now they’re doing ‘Mommy and Me’ yoga sessions with Sophie. She looks like a little pretzel. Anyway, Soph ended up chewing the yoga mat, Anna crashed into the coffee table, and Emma pulled something in her back. They still swear it was a deeply spiritual experience.” Jack paused with a small smile. “Sophia… she took her first steps this morning. I was in the kitchen, mashing bananas for her, and she just… stood up and toddled across the dining room like it was nothing. She took one step toward me, then another, and then another. I had to catch her before she fell, but when she fell into my arms, she giggled. You should’ve been there. You would’ve scooped her up in your arms, kissed her, and then you would’ve cried. It was like magic. You would’ve been so proud of her. Mom called last night — she was talking about you again. Said Sophia’s got your little frown when she concentrates. Said you always looked like you were doing long division in your head, even when you were just picking a movie. I think she misses you. She doesn’t say it directly, but it’s in the way she talks about you. Everyone misses you. Sophie misses you. Sometimes she just sits and stares at the door. I didn’t think much of it at first, but then I caught myself doing the same thing. Just… staring. Like I was expecting you to walk in. To hear your keys click. She’s never seen you walk through that door — not once. But she knows. Sometimes I think I’ve got the hang of it — parenting, I mean. I heat up her food just right, I remember which stuffed animal is the bedtime favorite that day. I play peekaboo until I’m dizzy. And then she just… breaks. Like full-body sobbing, hands in fists — that kind of crying that makes you feel like you’re doing everything wrong. I try everything — bouncing, pacing, rocking her in that weird little rhythm that always worked. But nothing works. Nothing. And then — I don’t know why I did it the first time — I pulled your sweater from the drawer and laid her down on it. She stopped. Just like that. Like something clicked back into place. Like she felt you. She just curled right up into it, little fingers clinging to the fabric like she’d known it all her life. She feels you. She misses you. Even without knowing what it is she’s missing. And it’s not just her, I miss you. I miss you in all the big ways — yeah, of course. I miss your laugh across a room, your hand in mine when the lights went out, my name in your voice. But I also miss the small things. I miss the way your skin felt after a shower. Warm. Damp at the collar. I miss the smell of your shampoo in my pillow. The little sigh you’d make when you finally found a comfortable spot in bed. I miss brushing past you in the kitchen. God, I miss your body next to mine. Not just for what it meant. But because it felt like home. It’s strange, isn’t it? How someone can feel like home. That's how much I love you. I love you, Elsa. I sometimes see something and think, Elsa would love it. But it's okay. I know someday I’m gonna be with you.”
He stands up to leave. His eyes settle on the bouquet of purple lilacs resting gently against the white marble. He reaches down and adjusts them, just a little, nudging the stems so they sit right. Then his fingers move to the stone, tracing the letters. His thumb lingers on the inscription, and for a moment, it looks like he’s going to say something else. But he doesn’t.
ELSA STENFORD
Loving, loved.
June 14, 1991 – September 2, 2024
You were my once-in-a-lifetime, and still are.
#jelsa#jack frost#queen elsa#frozen#rise of the guardians#ao3#jelsa fanfiction#angst#rotg#anna frozen#anna#frozen elsa#frozen 2#frozen fever#arendelle sisters#elsa#bittersweet#oneshot
32 notes
·
View notes
Text









love that when kaguya said she LOVES loves him he said are u insane
#funniest robot in the game OH I CANT WAIT FOR FUBUKI#so far i can confess to ulalaka (my pink wife) n iroha#ill get to ulalaka maaaaybe after cuilang hehe#coz the ending of her platonic quest was bittersweet ;w;#she loves kaguya bt kept her feelings hidden#coz she knows deities like her should not indulge n they will eventually lose their loved ones...#fafar plays rf guardians of azuma
4 notes
·
View notes
Text
The day to start enjoying the crates and crates of cookies 🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪
#destiny 2#destiny the game#my art#guardian crow#crow#crow destiny#fanart#destiny crow#the crow#uldren sov#nightmare uldren#food#cookies#bittersweet biscotti
27 notes
·
View notes
Text
ive started a new bg3 run and made my dream guardian look like my old tav like ppl said they were doing and oh my god i was not ready. i was n.ot ready for this
#ITS ALMOST BITTERSWEET??#watching him talk and be all nice and knowing its a ruse#im also playing the origin of the character i romanced in that playthrough so its like the dream guardian just#took the form of their soulmate from another timeline to taunt them in this run and ouchie ouch#a face never before seen by them yet something feels so familiar (its me. the player. crying.)#bg3#m
5 notes
·
View notes
Text
when haces tus momos en videos sos el futuro es hoy oíste viejoj
#cookie run#cookie run kingdom#cookie run fanart#cookie run ovenbreak#fire spirit cookie#knight cookie#fireknight from cookie run WOSKOWEKEHE :33#lord of ash#bittersweet guardian#abyss monarch cookie#black pearl cookie#cookie run costume#art#fireknight#cookie run shipping
221 notes
·
View notes
Text
This poem is a quiet invitation, a glimpse into memories that sting and shadows that watch. Not everyone will understand, but those who do will carry the weight. Stay tethered.
#bittersweet#emotional poem#guardian poem#hidden meanings#intimate poetry#introspective#layered poetry#loss#memory#mental health poetry#nostalgia#personal poem#poeaxtry#poetry#queer poetry#quiet strength#reflection#surreal poetry#trans author#trans poetry
0 notes
Text
ik i say this every time but this list does need to be like so fast
i have a lot of stuff though so we'll see how this goes sakljdf
cute fit!!! i wore owl earrings :) (that's not what makes it cute it's just the part i want to highlight <3)
went to a new (to me) restaurant w a friend and i liked the vibe a lot!! it was really nice hanging out w her also :D
also they had good food!! got a breakfast quesadilla w like peppers and egg and bacon in it + some sweet potato fries
^ i have a leftover quesadilla slice for breakfast tomorrow i'm hype <3
i made a cake yesterday and i WAS going to fill it w peach mousse but the mousse didn't turn out so i just iced it w some chocolate frosting we had in our pantry & it turned out yummy anyway
also my sister made brownies aslkdfj <33
listened to the last!!! episode!!! of legendlark!!!!! no one talk to me i'm not okay about it o)-( /d
played a bit of spiritfarer after listening alsk;dfjas
watched jjba w a couple friends!! idk if i've done a good things list since we started watching but we've set up weekly friday evening watch parties :-) we started w diamond is unbreakable bc that's friend a's favorite and so they just made a slideshow w all the context we really needed for the first 3 parts klajs;dfs and then friend b hasn't been able to join us yet but did today!! :D
found a DELIGHTFUL webcomic called my brother's not so secret boyfriend and i'm enjoying it immensely so far <333
also speaking of webcomics. caught up w the glass scientists o)-( my webcomic strat is 'put it down for as long as i can stand to wait/until i remember it exists and then binge catch up' but i am so AUGH /pos about tgs sooo aklsdfja;sldf
#w/ jjba we're on ep like 17?? last ep we watched today was the one with the rats 😭#link goes to the comic on webtoon !#meri monologues#it's a good good good good good good morning#listening to the last legendlark ep was so bittersweet like augaghoagj i love the guardians smmmm wdym their campaign is over ;-;#i am so glad that a) the larks already released the preview for nevernowhere and b) i've been doing a relisten of the campaign anyway#so i can just jump back to the middle of arc 5 and not dwell in being sad it's over <33#CRIES APPARENTLY I SCHEDULED FOR PM INSTEAD OF AM SO IT POSTED IN THE EVENING
0 notes
Text
Jelsa oneshots inspired by songs
Holidays by Conan Gray
Jelsa, one shot, modern AU

The coffee shop was small, familiar. The kind of place that still had mismatched mugs and a hand-painted menu board that hadn’t been updated in years. She had come here a hundred times before—after school with her friends, on lazy Sunday mornings with her mom. With him.
She didn’t notice him at first. She was too busy tugging off her gloves and squinting at the board, even though she already knew she would order a black coffee. She had been back in town for less than a day and was already here, drawn to it like a bad habit. She didn’t even like the coffee—it still tasted vaguely of gasoline—but nostalgia made people do strange things, and Elsa wasn’t immune.
She glanced out the window, watching as Anna lingered outside, still caught up in some overly enthusiastic conversation with an old classmate. Elsa didn’t remember the girl’s name. She had probably sat behind her in chemistry, borrowing her pencil once. She would have forgotten her by lunch.
The laugh that floated through the air, slipped into her ear, and finally became a signal in her brain was something she couldn’t describe. She could have searched the entire world, run in circles until her lungs gave out, learned a million languages—and still, she wouldn’t have found a word for it.
It was his.
Years had passed, but he still laughed exactly the same. She knew she shouldn't turn or look at him, but she did.
Her eyes found him easily, like they hadn’t spent years unlearning the habit.
Jack.
He looked almost the same. Still sharp-jawed and broad-shouldered, still white-haired and a little unruly around the edges. But his face was leaner now, more defined. The boyish softness she remembered was long gone. He was older, better. It suited him.
For a second, they just stared at each other.
And then—he smiled.
Not the easy, practiced grin she remembered—the one she had once told him made him look like a liar. This was smaller. Softer. Familiar in the way that only something worn and weathered could be.
It hit her so easily. The way he smiled like he still knew her. Like he hadn’t forgotten the shape of her name. Like nothing had changed at all.
Elsa smiled back.
And then, just like that, they both looked away.
Anna joined her in a while, yapping about something Elsa couldn’t bring herself to care about.
She turned back to the counter, ordered her coffee, slipped her gloves into her pocket, and walked over to the table by the wall. She set her phone down and curled her hands around the mug, warming her fingers against the ceramic. She didn’t look at him again. She didn’t have to.
Although, she could still feel him.
She could feel him every time she glanced at the window, catching the faint reflection of him in the glass. She could feel him when she took a sip of her coffee, suddenly hyper-aware of the way he cradled his cup in both hands, the way he had always done when he was cold. She could feel him when she let herself glance over and saw that he had gone back to talking to Aster.
And she thought, God, he’s still the same.
The same Jack who had held her hand beneath the table at dinner, their fingers threaded together, her thumb pressed lightly into the scar on his knuckle. The same Jack who had rolled his eyes when she called him out for being late but still kissed her temple before he left. The same Jack who had sat on the hood of her car one summer night, talking about nothing and everything until the sky turned pale.
He was the same.
And yet, when she caught his eyes again—just for a second, fleeting and sharp—it was still him.
Because his eyes hadn’t changed.
She could still see lifetimes in them.
Memories she hadn’t meant to hold onto. July afternoons that stretched into evening. The sound of his laugh against her throat. The way he had whispered her name once, low and wrecked, like he couldn’t bear it. The way he had looked at her afterward, his palm pressed against her cheek, his thumb smoothing over her jaw.
She let out a sigh, focusing on something, anything that could change the direction of her thoughts.
The choir outside. Young, off-key voices singing the same carols she had heard a thousand times before.
She shouldn’t have noticed. She shouldn’t have listened. It was the wrong thing to focus on.
Because it took her right back.
To them.
To the two of them standing outside this very café—years ago, hands stuffed into each other’s coat pockets because they were too stubborn to admit they were cold. Still teenagers, still kids, under the delusion that they were adults just because they could drive and drink coffee and kiss each other’s necks with easy, practiced certainty.
But they were still kids.
Barely seventeen.
And still stupid enough to think the world would wait for them.
She could still remember the way he had pulled her in that night—right there on the sidewalk, with the snow in her hair and carolers singing some slow, breathy version of Silent Night in the background. He had kissed her the way only a seventeen-year-old boy could—too hard, too certain, too sure that nothing could break them.
When she glanced over again, he was already looking at her.
And for the briefest second, it felt like they were seventeen again. Sitting in that same coffee shop, her legs pulled up on the chair, his knee pressed against hers. His arm slung lazily over the back of her seat. Her hand on his wrist, tracing slow, absent circles over his skin. Like they were still allowed to look at each other like that.
But now they weren’t.
She would give anything to be that naive again.
She blinked once and looked down at her coffee.
And when he finally left—half an hour later, book tucked into his coat, hands in his pockets—he didn’t say goodbye.
Neither did she.
But she knew she would see him in the holidays.
-----
I started listening to this song while writing the last chapter of Breathing/Collapsing, and I just HAD to take a break and write an oneshot. Hope you like this idea as much as I do!
#jelsa#jack frost#queen elsa#frozen#rise of the guardians#jelsa fanfiction#ao3#oneshot#drabble#light angst#bittersweet#high school#rotg jack frost#rotg#i was bored
22 notes
·
View notes
Photo

The Story The Story is about the main character finding his father. The film is really funny. It knows not to take itself too seriously (like the first film did) and knows how to make you laugh. Yes, it does have its more emotional moments, but they don't dwell on it too long and focus on being action-packed fun. They even managed to do a great bittersweet ending in this, and as a fan of bittersweet endings, this is one of the best ones I've seen. I also love the message about father-son relationships. You don't see them in films anymore. It's all been replaced by girl power and "I don't need a man" stories. It just gets tiring and worn out after a while. This film is definitely a breath of fresh air. The Characters The Characters have more personality in this film, especially the blue...grey...whatever colour he is dude is given a more fun personality. Some may dislike the new direction this film takes with the old characters, but it is definitely a welcome change in my book! The new characters are also great and funny. And the new villain in this film is like the old classic Disney villains who are just the most evil people in cinema. And come on... how could you not love baby Groot? The Special Effects The Special Effects are so well done in this film. They must of put so much money into the CGI department and just let them go crazy. The landscapes in this film just look so realistic. It's like you could go there (even though it wouldn't be my first choice for a holiday). And the Easter Eggs left in this film. They are EVERYWHERE! Old-time Marvel fans will love trying to find them all. Final Thoughts This film is officially on the list of "the only Marvel films I actually like" alongside "Big Hero 6". I have to be honest, this film is a masterpiece. A very funny one, at that. So if you're just looking for some sci-fi fun, look no further. The Story 5/5 The Characters 4.5/5 The Special Effects 5/5 Overall 4.5/5
#guardians of the galaxy review#volume#2#vol#great film#funny#masterpiece#fun#marvel#good marvel films#father son bonding#father son love#bittersweet#ending#endings
1 note
·
View note
Text


If Mizi was truly the heartless master manipulator she convinced herself to be she wouldn't have saved Till in these final few moments, she's proving herself wrong by throwing away her need for survival for someone she genuinely cares about, her best friend, the last remaining connection she has to her childhood. I think that's bittersweet, Till finally gained the acknowledgement he longed for, from his 'guardian angel' , and Mizi realised she was more 'human' than she initially thought with her act of compassion— bye, I'm going to visit my shrink.
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
There’s a bittersweet joy in witnessing the struggles of the Syrian people bear moments of hope, but it feels like a fleeting spark, a fragile light overshadowed by deeper, relentless forces. Can we call this freedom? Or is it just a brief pause in a cycle of pain that has gripped us for far too long?
For decades, the Middle East has been scarred by war, division, and unimaginable suffering. These aren’t random tragedies, they are deliberate, calculated acts meant to maintain control. As long as Zionism continues to reshape the region, inching closer to the goal of a Greater Israel, true freedom for any of us will remain a distant dream.
But freedom isn’t just about removing one dictator or another. Real freedom requires dismantling the entire system that keeps us in chains. It’s about a shift in power, a dismantling of structures that oppress us all. Until Palestine is free, until the people who are suffering are allowed to breathe, none of us can say we’re free.
This isn’t just a political issue for me, it’s personal. My family in Gaza is living through an unthinkable reality: genocide, freezing cold nights without shelter, hunger, and prices so high that survival is a struggle each day. They’re stuck in a nightmare that keeps getting worse, and their suffering is not just a faraway tragedy, it’s a pain that echoes through me.
And yet, despite the immense pain, I hold on to hope. Because I know that change is possible. Every small donation, every act of solidarity, can ripple outward and transform lives. This isn’t just charity, it’s resistance. It’s standing together to defy those who profit from our suffering. You have the power to be part of this change. Stand with Gaza. Stand for freedom. Stand for humanity.
This campaign is for 26 lives hanging by a thread, including two orphaned children and a family member suffering from hemiplegia after being hit by shrapnel during a bombing. She urgently needs surgery to replace infected plates in her body. The situation is dire, and every day is a battle. The video showing the injured family member was shared earlier in this post: Link.
Please help us ! Donate and reblog this post to spread our story.
Vetted and shared by @90-ghost: Link.
Verified and shared by @el-shab-hussein: Link
Listed as number 282 in "The Vetted Gaza Evacuation Fundraiser Spreadsheet" compiled by @el-shab-hussein and @nabulsi : Link
Listed on the Butterfly Effect Project, number 957: Link
Additionally, Al Jazeera News has documented apart of my family's case: Link
If, for some reason, you couldn't donate via GoFundMe, you can donate via PayPal instead. Please keep the conversion rates in mind when donating through GoFundMe. Every 100 SEK is equivalent to 10 dollars, and 200 SEK equals 20 dollars and so on.
@timetravellingkitty @deathlonging @briarhips @mazzikah @mahoushojoe
@sar-soor @rhubarbspring @pcktknife @thatdiabolicalfeminist @turtletoria
@sawasawako @feluka @appsa @anneemay @commissions4aid-international
@wellwaterhysteria @mangocheesecakes @kyra45-helping-others @7bitter @tortiefrancis
@watermotif @stuckinapril @mavigator @lacecap @determinate-negation
@socalgal @chilewithcarnage @ghelgheli @sayruq @elbiotipo
@el-shab-hussein @heritageposts @communistkenobi @deepspaceboytoy @molsno
@mesetacadre @forevergulag @gazafunds @northgazaupdates2 @freepalestinneee
@komsomolka @muppet-sex @nabulsi @fading-event-608 @buttercuparry
@prierepaiienne @interact-if @unified-multiversal-theory @inkstay
@socialjusticekitten-blog @socialgoodmoms @nowthisnews @socialgoofy @fightforhumanity-rpg-blog
@fightforhumanity-rp @queerandpresentdanger @90-ghost @timogsilangan @punkitt-is-here
@fox-guardian @hiveswap @valtsv @helppeople @ibtisams
@annoyingloudmicrowavecultist @vakarians-babe @plomegranate @queerstudiesnatural @tamamita
@apollos-boyfriend @akajustmerry @marnosc @flower-tea-fairies @tsaricides
@belleandsaintsebastian @ear-motif @brutaliakent @raelyn-dreams @troythecatfish
@4ft10tvlandfangirl @communistchilchuck @fairuz @sarazucker @fairuzfan
@a-nautilus-as-pixel-art @13eyond13 @stil-lindigo @baby-indie-blog
@marnota @vivisection-gf @brutaliakhoa @the-bastard-king @magnus-rhymes-with-swagness
@neptunerings @malcriada @turian @girlinafairytale @abnormalicacid
@sylvianritual @mothblossoms @autisticmudkip @lesbianmaxevans
@nabulsi27 @palestinegenocide @orblesbian @palebluebutler @pallasisme
@riding-with-the-wild-hunt @baby-girl-aaron-dessner @morallyrainyday @jame7t @el-shab-hussein
@jonpertwee @flipton @bell-bones @ragingbullmode @envytherose
@rodent178 @tangledinourstrings @kraigerzz-blog @frogbrainedfool @the-ending-of-dramamine
@redsavesquare @uninvited-eon @glenbot @ultimateumbreon33 @pitbolshevik
@disastersim @airsigh @cowboy-queer @lapastelr0sa @sharingresourcesforpalestine
@rebel-girl-queen-of-my-world @kropotkindersurprise @cruzwalters @la7ma-mafrooma @rosyish
@bookskittychad @streakoflavender @miraclemaya @devilofthepit @paper-mario-wiki
@gay-yosuke @cometcrystal @nb-marceline @cicadaland @charlott2n
@manletwizard @2blushie @antiauteur @acnologia-is-best-dragon @bitchmael
@penelopiaad @hashiramashonkers @laughtracklesbian @legallymean @b0nkcreat
@crapscicle @uwu-pinata @syntheticspades @momxijinping @longlivepalestina
@saberboi-1 @martinmynster @nako-funky @trans-leek-cookie @vaticinatrix
@moomoobug @narwa @twilightobservationtower @estrellasrojas @knxfesck
@lakeeffectbitch @fatbitchneedsfoodbadly @no-thats-absurd @humanmorph
@sandiwchirlinreal @tcda @misspiggyforvogueitalia @gamb0fficial @vincentspork
@gemstonedraws @frankendykes-monster @mizoguchi @kos-mos @ryoki-ph
@blackwoolncrown @nightwussy @freehologramreview @melancholy-hummingborb
@sister-lucifer @nonbinarymerbabe @raventhecoolestpersonever @ebenrosetaylor @wellwaterhysteria
@inkbomber @collectoroflovelythings @k00ldino @sundung @extrabitterbrain
@names-hard @killaltrock @thatdarngreenpixie-blog @angelsarecomputers @to00fu
@secretgoths @cauli-flawa @faraliniste @adrowninggrip @thesavagesnakeplant
@g-l-a-s-s-h-e-a-r-t-s-s @illuminated-runas @silverstone-gp @saintverse @nytirri
@emathyst9 @trasno-personal @turtles-on-turts @dendrosystem
@readingsquotes @bellybuttonblue2 @bees-fart-too @andiv3r-reblogging @sillyseer
@cloudedcari @tachycardial @evileyeamulet @pompompotato @shamemp3
@jihaad @italofobia @stealthjet @pinnyy @sivavakkiyar
@chronicowboy @bi-worm @ydic74the @amorosebeing @golvio
@dailyquests @punkitt-is-here @opencommunion @postanagramgenerator @a-scary-lack-of-common-sense
@paper-mario-wiki @prisonhannibal @a-shade-of-blue @ramshackledtrickster
#jerusalem#current events#palestine#free palestine#gaza#free gaza#news on gaza#palestine news#news update#war news#war on gaza#famine#northern gaza#gaza genocide#genocide#palestine donation#palestine gofundme#yemen#tel aviv#israel#palastina#human rights#lebanon#us politics#politics#text#text post#txt#txt post#txt 2024
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
— STEP OUT ! ⊹ᡣ𐭩₊⋆
❛ 八命合一心 ; eight lives united as one heart ❜
about: welcome to step out! this is an ot8 stray kids series containing solo fics for all members based off of their respective songs from the newest album "合". here, you'll be able to choose and explore from a variety of themes and universes, and each world is handcrafted to revolve around one out of the eight, whether the inspiration for it came from the lyrics, melody, concept or more. though the stories are not directly connected with one another, each of them has its own flair. with any hope, they'll be to your liking, so do stick around to find out & enjoy your stay!
status: ON HOLD.
pairing(s): ot8!stray kids x fem!reader
disclaimer: all fics contain MATURE content along with smut which is not appropriate for minors. viewer discretion is advised & you are the only one responsible for the content you consume.
add. notes: hello n welcome 2 lovscb97 first series debut ... this idea came to me on a whim when i was listening to seungmin solo on a walk n i was like "yk what would be cool ? ot8 fics based off their solo songs. Yea." n boom! step out was born. special thanks to jamsie n nico for their help n i hope u guys enjoy it loads!!! plz mind the tags for each specific fic before reading (more detailed ones will come with each chapter so as to not spoil much about the stories) but other than that have a great time n lmk what u think if u wish <3 details for specific fics are under the cut btw!
last updated: 02/07/2025.
TAGLIST: OPEN!
. . .
ˋ°•*⁀➷ TRACK 001.
READ HERE.
title: railway
featuring: best friend's ex!bangchan x fem!reader
word count: 7.85k
tags: angst, forbidden romance, toxic relationship, unprotected sex, exhibitionism, dirty talk, etc
ˋ°•*⁀➷ TRACK 002.
READ HERE.
title: youth
featuring: camp counsellor!lee minho x fem!reader
word count: n/a.
tags: strangers to ???, some angst, summer fling, found family, protected sex, bittersweet, etc
ˋ°•*⁀➷ TRACK 003.
READ HERE.
title: ultra
featuring: roommate!bff!seo changbin x fem!reader
word count: n/a.
tags: roommates to lovers, fluff, mutual pining, heavy tension, dry humping, rough sex, unprotected sex, etc
ˋ°•*⁀➷ TRACK 004.
READ HERE.
title: so good
featuring: tour guide!hwang hyunjin x singer!fem!reader
word count: n/a.
tags: black cat x golden retriever, family trauma, confessions, protected sex, angst, open ending, etc
ˋ°•*⁀➷ TRACK 005.
READ HERE.
title: hold my hand
featuring: guardian angel!han jisung x fem!reader
word count: n/a.
tags: 'she fell first but he fell harder' trope, kissing, sweet lovemaking, some religious undertones, character death, etc
ˋ°•*⁀➷ TRACK 006.
READ HERE.
title: unfair
featuring: beast!lee felix x princess!fem!reader
word count: n/a.
tags: royalty au, premodern timeline, shapeshifting, fairytale-esque romance, monster-fucking, breeding kink, etc
ˋ°•*⁀➷ TRACK 007.
READ HERE.
title: as we are
featuring: baseball player!kim seungmin x fem!reader
word count: n/a.
tags: childhood best friends to lovers, first love, sports injury, grief, healing, slowburn, protected sex, etc
ˋ°•*⁀➷ TRACK 008.
READ HERE.
title: hallucination
featuring: church boy!yang jeongin x delinquent!fem!reader
word count: n/a.
tags: good boy x bad girl, religious guilt, blasphemy, unprotected sex, corruption kink, etc
. . .
© all rights reserved to @/lovscb97, do not plagiarise, translate, re-upload, etc
#✰ sunny's series!#➶ work: step out#skz x reader#skz x you#skz x y/n#skz smut#stray kids x reader#stray kids x you#stray kids x y/n#stray kids smut#bangchan smut#bangchan x reader#leeknow smut#leeknow x reader#changbin smut#changbin x reader#hyunjin smut#hyunjin x reader#han jisung smut#han jisung x reader#felix smut#felix x reader#seungmin smut#seungmin x reader#jeongin smut#jeongin x reader#skz hard hours#skz hard thoughts#stray kids hard thoughts#stray kids hard hours
982 notes
·
View notes
Text
Styled For Love || K.Soonyoung {Hoshi}
Pairing: Idol!Hoshi x Stylist!Reader



Warnings: Angst | Miscommunication | Insecurity | Swearing | Fluff | Teasing | Drunken Confession | Public Relationship Reveal | NO PROOF READING WAS DONE
Trope: Second Chance Romance | Slow Burn | Ex-Crush to Lovers
Word count: 9649 words ; Reading time: 35 mins-ish
Synopsis: Back in university, you loved Hoshi—even when he pushed you away. Seven years later, fate throws you back into his life as SEVENTEEN’s personal stylist. Awkward stares, silent tension, and unsaid words define your new dynamic. But when old feelings resurface and a drunken confession changes everything, will you finally get the love you once fought for?
Author’s Note: This is peak second-chance romance with angst, teasing, and Hoshi being an awkward mess. If you love group chat chaos, flirty banter, and a soft but possessive Hoshi, this SMAU is for you. Let’s watch him fumble his way back into love. Enjoy the ride! - Opinions are also appreciated!!
Request's are open!!
The scent of old paper and the soft, almost ghostly hum of the university library always brought a strange sense of nostalgia, a bittersweet ache that settled deep in your chest, a phantom limb of a life left behind. You traced your fingers along the worn spine of a textbook, its pages filled with notes you’d taken, not for yourself, but for him. Outside, the cherry blossoms were in full bloom, a vibrant, almost mocking contrast to the gray sky that mirrored the dull ache in your heart.
Seven years. Seven years since you'd last walked these halls, since you'd last seen Kwon Soonyoung, now Hoshi, the boy whose laughter used to fill the class rooms, whose eyes crinkled into crescents when he smiled, the boy you loved with a quiet intensity that had never been reciprocated. The intensity of your feelings was a secret you kept locked away, a treasure and a burden all at once.
You remembered the way he'd always been surrounded by friends, his energy infectious, his passion for dance burning like a flame, drawing everyone into its warmth. You remembered the late nights in the practice room, the way his brow furrowed in concentration, the way his sweat-soaked shirt clung to his lean frame, emphasizing the dedication he poured into every movement. You remembered the way his laughter would echo through the empty halls, a sound you cherished, even from a distance.
And you remembered the way you'd always been on the periphery, a silent observer, a distant admirer. You'd left vitamin drinks in his locker, slipped him meticulously detailed notes when he missed lectures, brought him extra snacks during late rehearsals, knowing he’d often forget to eat. You'd cared for him from afar, a silent guardian, your heart aching with unspoken words, with the weight of a confession you never dared to make.
The weight of those unspoken words grew heavier with each passing day. You knew he was burdened with the pressure of idol training, the relentless schedule, the expectations that seemed to crush him under their weight. You wanted to ease his burden, to be a source of comfort, but you were trapped in the silent role you’d created for yourself.
But your quiet devotion hadn't gone unnoticed. The whispers started, sharp and cruel, like shards of glass, each word cutting deeper than any physical wound. "Clingy," they'd called you, the word laced with disdain. "Chasing after a future idol," they’d sneered, as if your affection was a calculated move, a desperate attempt to ride his coattails to fame. The rumors spread like wildfire, painting you as a pathetic, lovesick girl, a stalker in their eyes.
You remember the way you’d flinched when you passed groups of students, their eyes following you, their whispers a constant, stinging reminder of your perceived transgression. You remember the way you’d avoided the cafeteria, the library, any place where you might encounter him, or worse, his friends, who now regarded you with a mixture of pity and contempt.
The rumors became a monster, twisting your quiet affection into something ugly and obsessive. They painted you as a leech, a parasite clinging to his rising star, draining his energy, his focus. They whispered about your “desperate attempts” to get his attention, your “pathetic displays” of affection. You heard them call you a distraction, a burden, a stain on his reputation.
You remember the way your hands trembled when you tried to write, the way your voice caught in your throat when you tried to speak. You remember the way you’d retreated into yourself, becoming a ghost in the very place you’d once felt a sense of belonging. The library, once a sanctuary, became a place of torment, the silence amplifying the whispers in your head.
And then, the day he'd finally noticed you, it wasn't the way you'd imagined in your countless daydreams. It was a cold, harsh dismissal, his eyes devoid of the warmth you'd always seen, replaced by a cold, distant look that chilled you to the bone.
"Stop following me around," he'd said, his voice flat, devoid of emotion, each word a precise, calculated blow. "I don't need you to take care of me."
The words had shattered you, each syllable a blow to your already fragile heart. It was the final, brutal confirmation of everything the rumors had whispered. You’d refused to cry, refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing your pain, of validating their cruel narratives. Instead, you'd turned and walked away, your steps echoing in the empty hallway, your heart a heavy, leaden weight, a stone sinking to the bottom of a dark, cold sea.
--
After graduation, you'd vanished from his life, leaving behind the university, the memories, and the boy who had broken you. You'd thrown yourself into your work, channeling your pain into ambition, carving a name for yourself in the cutthroat world of fashion and styling, building a wall of professionalism around your wounded heart. You vowed to never be that vulnerable, that exposed, that broken again. You built a new you, one that wouldn’t let anyone see the scars. You built a you that would never let anyone hurt you like that again.
--
The backstage area of the music show, usually a vibrant hive of activity, seemed to hold its breath as you stepped into SEVENTEEN's dressing room. The air crackled with a tension that was almost tangible, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken history that permeated the space. The usual cacophony of hairspray, chatter, and music faded into a dull hum, replaced by the sharp, almost painful awareness of your presence.
"SEVENTEEN's new stylist? You're kidding me," Mingyu's voice cut through the silence, a mix of disbelief and intrigue. He leaned against a rack of clothing, his eyes wide as he watched you move with a practiced grace, adjusting the drape of a silk scarf on a mannequin. "Wait, it's really you?"
You didn't break your concentration, your fingers meticulously straightening the fabric. "It's just another job," you repeated, your voice cool and measured, a carefully constructed barrier against the storm raging within you. "Professionalism is key."
But the lie hung heavy in the air, a fragile shield against the memories that threatened to overwhelm you. It wasn't just another job. It was a confrontation with the past, a forced encounter with the man who had shattered your heart, the ghost you'd tried so desperately to bury.
The door swung open, and he stood there, Kwon Soonyoung, now Hoshi, the idol whose name echoed through stadiums, whose face graced magazine covers. His eyes, once filled with warmth and laughter, now held a flicker of shock, a moment of disbelief that quickly morphed into a searching intensity.
"You…?" he breathed, his voice barely a whisper, a stark contrast to the powerful vocals he commanded on stage. The single word hung in the air, laden with unspoken questions, with the weight of years of unresolved emotions.
"Mingyu-hyung, you guys know each other?" Seungkwan piped up, his eyes darting between you and Hoshi, his curiosity piqued. "From where? University? That’s wild."
The silence that followed was thick and heavy, the air thrumming with unspoken words. The members exchanged uneasy glances, their expressions a mix of confusion and intrigue. They sensed the undercurrent of tension, the unspoken history that lingered beneath the surface, a silent narrative that played out between you and Hoshi.
You broke the silence, your voice cool and professional, a shield against the rising tide of memories. "We went to university together," you stated, your voice devoid of any emotion.
"Ah," Mingyu said, his eyes filled with curiosity, a hint of understanding dawning on him. "That's… interesting." He looked at Hoshi, then back at you, his eyes searching for answers, for the missing pieces of a puzzle he couldn't quite comprehend.
Hoshi stared at you, his eyes searching yours, trying to find a flicker of recognition, a hint of the girl he'd known. But you were different now, a polished professional, a far cry from the shy, lovesick girl he'd pushed away. You were a fortress, your emotions locked away behind a wall of carefully constructed professionalism.
You moved through the room, your movements precise and efficient, your focus solely on the task at hand. You laughed at DK's jokes, your laughter light and genuine, a stark contrast to the coldness you showed Hoshi. You teased Seungkwan about his vocal range, praising his talent while playfully mocking his dramatic flair. You complimented Jeonghan's ethereal beauty, your words sincere and appreciative. But when Hoshi spoke, you treated him with the same detached professionalism you showed any other client, your eyes cool, your voice measured.
"The concept for your stage today is a mix of urban chic and edgy rebellion," you explained, your voice devoid of any personal inflection. "The ripped jeans, the leather jacket, it's all about conveying a sense of youthful defiance, a raw energy."
Hoshi watched you, his eyes searching yours, trying to find a flicker of the girl he’d known, a hint of the warmth that had once filled your eyes. But you gave him nothing, your expression a mask of professional detachment, your eyes distant.
He wanted to talk, to bridge the gap, to understand the coldness in your eyes. He wanted to apologize, to explain, to make amends for the pain he'd caused. But you gave him no opening, your focus solely on the task at hand. You were a ghost, a professional ghost, and he couldn't reach you.
"Is the jacket too tight?" you asked, your voice sharp, pulling him back to the present, back to the cold reality of your professional interaction.
"No, it's fine," he replied, his voice flat, his eyes still searching yours, searching for a connection that seemed to have vanished.
"Good," you said, your voice dismissive. "Then let's move on to the accessories. The chains, the rings, they're all about adding an edge, a rebellious touch."
The silence that followed was heavy, filled with unspoken words and unresolved emotions. The members watched you both, their eyes filled with a mixture of curiosity and concern. They sensed the tension, the unspoken history, the pain that lingered beneath the surface, a silent testament to a past that refused to stay buried.
"This is going to be… interesting," Seungkwan whispered to Mingyu, his eyes wide with intrigue.
Mingyu nodded, his expression serious. "Yeah. I think we're in for a wild ride. And I have a feeling it’s going to be a bumpy one." He looked at Hoshi, then back at you, a silent question hanging in the air. How were they going to get through this?
The styling sessions, once a collaborative effort, had devolved into a tense battleground. You wielded your artistic vision like a weapon, pushing Hoshi beyond his comfort zone with every daring fabric, every unconventional silhouette. The result was visually arresting, a testament to your talent, but it was also a calculated assault, a means of unsettling him, of forcing him to confront the ghosts of his past.
He found himself trapped in a suffocating vortex of self-doubt, obsessively scrutinizing every reflection, every perceived flaw. The pressure of maintaining his idol persona, the constant scrutiny, the relentless pursuit of perfection, had always been a heavy burden. But now, with you back in his life, the weight was crushing, suffocating, threatening to shatter him.
A staff member’s casual, almost dismissive comment about his proportions, a throwaway remark about his “less-than-ideal” physique, became a catalyst, igniting a firestorm of insecurity within him. It was a fleeting, insignificant comment, easily dismissed under normal circumstances. But in his current state of emotional vulnerability, it felt like a brutal indictment, a confirmation of his deepest fears, a validation of the lies he told himself.
He’d always prided himself on his stage presence, his charisma, his ability to command attention. But now, doubt whispered insidious lies, painting him as inadequate, as undeserving of your attention, of your affection. He found himself staring at his reflection, his eyes tracing the lines of his body, searching for imperfections, for the flaws that seemed to confirm his worst fears, the ones that whispered he wasn’t good enough.
"If you don't appreciate his stage presence, maybe you should find another job," your voice cut through the tension, sharp and unwavering, like a blade slicing through silk. It was a fierce defense, an instinctive reaction to the staff member’s callous remark, a protective shield against the cruelty of the world.
Hoshi stared at you, his heart pounding in his chest, a chaotic mix of surprise and confusion warring within him. He was caught off guard by the raw intensity in your eyes, by the unwavering conviction in your voice. He wanted to thank you, to acknowledge the unexpected kindness, but the words caught in his throat, choked by a surge of conflicting emotions, a battle within himself.
He was overwhelmed by a sense of guilt, of regret, of the realization that he didn’t deserve your defense, your kindness. He was haunted by the memory of his past cruelty, the cold, harsh words that had shattered your heart, the pain he had inflicted, the wounds he’d never tried to heal.
And then, a wave of anger washed over him, a desperate, almost primal need to push you away, to protect himself from the vulnerability of your proximity. He couldn’t bear the thought of your compassion, of your caring, when he knew he didn’t deserve it, when he was still haunted by the ghosts of his mistakes.
"You don’t have to pretend to care about me anymore," he snapped, his voice laced with bitterness, with a desperate attempt to mask his vulnerability. "You’ve done your job. Now leave me alone. I don’t need your pity, or your misplaced kindness."
"Pity?" You echoed, your voice dangerously low, your eyes flashing with anger. "Don’t flatter yourself, Kwon Soonyoung. I don’t waste my pity on those who don’t deserve it. You’re not worth my pity, you’re simply a job."
"Then what is this?" He demanded, his voice rising, his eyes blazing. "Why are you defending me? Why are you even here? Why defend me if I'm simply a job?"
"I’m here because I’m a professional," you retorted, your voice sharp, your eyes cold. "And I defend my clients, regardless of their… personal failings. And I'm here, because I'm good at my job. And you, are a client."
"Personal failings?" He repeated, his voice laced with sarcasm, with a bitter edge. "Is that what I am to you? A personal failing? A job? Nothing more?"
"You made your choice," you stated, your voice flat, devoid of emotion, your eyes hard. "You decided to push me away. You decided to inflict pain. Don’t expect me to welcome you back with open arms, or any semblance of forgiveness."
"I was trying to protect you!" He yelled. "From the rumors, from the gossip, from the pressure!"
"Protect me?" You laughed, a hollow, bitter sound. "You protected your image, your career. You protected yourself. You didn't protect me."
He stormed off, his steps heavy with regret, his heart aching with a pain he couldn’t comprehend. He left you standing there, your expression unreadable, your eyes filled with a mixture of anger and hurt, a silent testament to the damage he’d inflicted.
The members exchanged worried glances, their expressions filled with apologies, with silent pleas for understanding. They knew the demons that haunted Hoshi, the internal conflict that raged within him.
"Hyung can be a bit… difficult," Mingyu said, his voice apologetic, his eyes filled with concern. "He's just… going through a lot right now. He's a mess."
"He doesn't mean it," joshua added, his voice soft, his eyes filled with sympathy. "He's just… scared. He's afraid of losing you again, or more accurately, admitting he never had you at all."
"He already lost me," you stated, your voice cold, your eyes hard. "And he has no one to blame but himself. He made his choice, and now, he has to live with the consequences."
You retreated into your work, focusing on the details of the styling, the colors, the textures, the shapes. You moved with a mechanical precision, your movements devoid of any emotion, your mind a blank slate.
But the silence in the dressing room was heavy, filled with unspoken words and unresolved emotions. The members watched you, their eyes filled with concern, their silence a testament to the tension that permeated the space. They knew that the fragile peace had been shattered, that the delicate balance between you and Hoshi had been irrevocably disrupted. They knew that the road ahead would be fraught with pain, with conflict, with the daunting task of mending broken hearts, if such a thing was even possible. And they knew, that the next move, would determine if there was any hope left.
The soundproofed walls of Woozi's studio, typically a haven of creative expression, now held the weight of Hoshi's raw vulnerability, his voice a broken melody of regret and longing. The air was thick with the unspoken emotions that had festered for years, a silent testament to the pain and longing that had consumed him. Woozi, usually a master of understated expressions, had transformed into a stern confidant, his eyes a piercing gaze that demanded absolute honesty, his silence a heavy presence.
"What the hell was that, Soonyoung?" Woozi's voice, typically a soft, melodic hum, now resonated with a low, dangerous rumble, each word a precise, cutting edge that sliced through the suffocating tension. He leaned against the mixing console, arms crossed, his posture rigid, his gaze unwavering, a silent accusation that demanded a confession. "You’re making a spectacular, catastrophic mess of everything, including yourself. You’re unraveling at the seams, a tangled mess of regret and fear."
Hoshi slumped into a worn-out studio chair, his head buried in his hands, his body language a testament to his utter defeat, his posture a reflection of the emotional wreckage within him, a broken puppet with severed strings. "I don’t know, Jihoon. I just… I messed up. Again. And this time, I don't know how to fix it. I'm afraid I've irrevocably shattered any chance I had, any hope of redemption, any possibility of forgiveness."
"Messed up?" Woozi scoffed, a hint of exasperation lacing his voice, his eyes filled with a mixture of disappointment and concern, a silent lament. "You’re acting like a petulant child, throwing a tantrum when you should be trying to salvage what’s left. You’re pushing her away when you should be pulling her close, begging her to stay, to understand, to forgive."
"It's not that simple," Hoshi mumbled, his voice muffled by his hands, his words a desperate attempt to justify his actions, a plea for understanding. "You don't understand the pressure, the fear… the sheer, crippling terror of messing up again, of causing her more pain, of shattering her again."
"Then make me understand," Woozi retorted, his patience wearing thin, his voice laced with a sharp edge, his eyes demanding clarity, a silent challenge. "You liked her, didn't you? Back then? Or, dare I say… loved? Because there's a world of difference between the two, a chasm of regret and unspoken words."
Hoshi hesitated, his throat tight with unspoken emotions, with the weight of years of regret and the burden of unrequited love. He finally nodded, his voice barely a whisper, a confession he’d kept locked away for too long, a secret that had festered in the shadows of his heart. "I did. I liked her a lot. More than a lot. I loved her, Jihoon. I still do. I always have. And I never stopped."
"Loved?" Woozi raised an eyebrow, his expression skeptical, his eyes searching Hoshi's for the truth, for the raw vulnerability he rarely displayed, for the genuine emotion that lay beneath the layers of regret and fear. "Then why, Soonyoung, why did you push her away? Why did you break her heart into a million pieces?"
Hoshi's face flushed crimson, a wave of shame washing over him, his eyes filled with a mixture of regret and a raw vulnerability he rarely allowed anyone to see, a silent testament to his internal battle. He looked away, his gaze fixed on the worn carpet, his voice barely audible, a confession whispered in the darkness. "I… I don't know. It doesn't matter now. I ruined everything. I was so scared. So incredibly, pathetically scared. I was a coward."
"It matters to her," Woozi said, his voice softer now, but no less intense, each word a carefully placed stone in a bridge he was trying to build, a silent plea for understanding. "It matters to you. And it matters to me, because you're my friend, and you’re slowly destroying yourself with your self-inflicted guilt. Tell me, Soonyoung, why her? What made her so special, so unforgettable?"
Hoshi took a deep breath, his voice trembling slightly, his eyes filled with a distant longing, a bittersweet nostalgia, a silent journey into the past. "It was… everything. Her kindness, her quiet strength, the way she cared for everyone around her without expecting anything in return. Even when people whispered, even when they were cruel, she never changed. She was always… pure. And she was so talented, so driven. Even then, she was a force, a beacon of light in the darkness. And she saw me, Jihoon. She saw the real me, the insecure kid beneath the stage persona. She understood me, even when I didn’t understand myself. And she was beautiful, inside and out. The way she smiled, the way she laughed… it was like sunshine, chasing away the shadows of my doubts."
He paused, his eyes filled with a distant longing, his voice thick with emotion, a silent lament for a love lost. "And even when I was an idiot, even when I pushed her away, she never stopped caring. I knew she wouldn’t. And that… that just made it worse. I felt like I didn’t deserve her. I felt like I was tarnishing her light, dragging her into my darkness."
"I wanted to be with her," Hoshi confessed, his voice thick with emotion, his eyes filled with a desperate plea for understanding, a silent cry for forgiveness. "But I couldn't. The pressure, the rumors, the constant scrutiny… I didn't want to ruin her life. I was scared of what it would do to her. I was scared of ruining her, of dragging her into my chaotic world, of extinguishing her light."
"And instead, you broke her heart into pieces," Woozi finished, his voice filled with a quiet understanding, a hint of disappointment, a silent lament for a love lost. "You thought you were protecting her, but you only caused her more pain. You made a choice, and it was the wrong one. A cowardly one, driven by fear, fueled by regret."
Hoshi nodded, his eyes filled with a deep, consuming regret, a self-loathing that gnawed at his soul, a silent admission of his failure, a heavy burden of guilt. "The worst part?" he said, his voice thick with self-loathing, his words a confession of his deepest shame, a desperate plea for absolution. "I knew she'd never stop caring. I knew she'd always be there for me, no matter what. And I still pushed her away. I still hurt her, even when I knew she didn't deserve it. I was a fool, a coward, a monster."
"You still have a chance, idiot," Woozi said, his eyes filled with a rare intensity, a flicker of hope igniting within him, a silent promise of support, a quiet command. "Just tell her the truth. Tell her how you feel. Tell her why you did what you did. Carats will support you. We will support you. And she… she might too, if you give her a reason to. If you show her you’ve changed, if you show her you’re worthy."
Hoshi shook his head, his voice filled with despair, his eyes filled with the ghosts of his past mistakes, a silent acknowledgment of his unworthiness, a broken plea for a chance. "It's too late. I ruined everything. I don't deserve her forgiveness. I'm a mess. A coward. A broken mess, beyond repair."
"It's never too late to try," Woozi countered, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument, his eyes filled with a quiet determination, a silent command, a resolute belief. "But you have to be honest. You have to be vulnerable. You have to admit your mistakes, and you have to mean it. You have to show her that you are worthy of her love, that you are worthy of a second chance, that you are not the same man you were then."
"I don't know how," Hoshi confessed, his voice filled with a raw vulnerability that Woozi rarely saw, a desperate plea for guidance, a broken cry for help, a silent acknowledgment of his fear. "I'm afraid of hurting her again. I'm afraid she'll never forgive me. I'm afraid I'll just make things worse, that I’ll only push her further away."
"Then show her you've changed," Woozi said, his voice soft but firm, his eyes filled with a quiet determination, a silent promise of support, a resolute command. "Show her you’re not the same person who pushed her away. Actions speak louder than words, and you have a lot to make up for. You loved her, Soonyoung. Now fight for her. Fight for your second chance. Fight for the love you threw away."
A long silence stretched between them, the weight of unspoken emotions hanging heavy in the air. Hoshi stared at his hands, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions, a battleground of regret and fear, a silent war within himself. He wanted to reach out to you, to mend the broken pieces of their past, but he was paralyzed by fear, by the fear of rejection, by the fear of causing you more pain.
"I don't know what to do," he whispered, his voice filled with a desperate plea for guidance, a broken cry for a chance at redemption, a silent plea for a miracle.
"You need to talk to her," Woozi said, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument, his eyes filled with a quiet resolve, a silent command, a determined belief. "You need to tell her the truth. And you need to apologize. Properly. Not some half-hearted attempt, but a genuine, heartfelt apology, a confession from the depths of your soul. And you have to tell her why you love her, Soonyoung. You need to let her know she was never just a rumor, never just a burden. You need to tell her she was everything, that you were the blind one, that she was the light you extinguished."
Meanwhile, in the adjacent room, SEVENTEEN were engaged in a chaotic planning session, their voices a mix of mischievous excitement and nervous anticipation, their expressions a blend of playful determination and genuine concern. They had witnessed the tension, the hurt, and decided that drastic measures were required, that they needed to intervene, to orchestrate a moment of truth.
"We need to lock them in a room," Mingyu declared, his eyes gleaming with a mischievous glint, his voice filled with a conspiratorial whisper, his expression a picture of determined chaos, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
"Are you crazy?" vernon exclaimed, his eyes wide with disbelief, his voice rising in alarm, his expression a mix of horror and amusement, a dramatic gasp. "That’s a terrible idea! What if they kill each other? Or worse, us? What if they unleash their wrath upon us?"
"It's a terrible idea that just might work," Jeonghan countered, a sly smile playing on his lips, his eyes filled with a mischievous glint, his voice laced with a playful edge, a knowing smirk.
"They need to talk, and we need to ensure they do. A little forced intimacy never hurt anyone. Besides, we’re doing them a favor, a service to true love." cheol added seeing han's smirk.
"But what if it makes things worse?" seokmin asked, his voice filled with concern, his eyes wide with anxiety, his expression a picture of pure worry, a silent plea for reason. "What if they hate us? What if they never speak to us again? What if they hold us responsible for their misery?"
"Then we'll deal with it," shua said, his voice firm, his eyes filled with a quiet resolve, his expression a picture of unwavering determination, a silent promise to shoulder the consequences. "But we have to try. They deserve a second chance, and we’re going to make sure they get it, whether they like it or not. We’re SEVENTEEN, and we fix our family, even if it means causing a little chaos along the way."
And so, the plan was set. They would lure you and Hoshi into the dressing room, lock the door, and force them to confront their past. It was a risky move, a gamble that could either mend broken hearts or shatter them completely. But they were willing to take that risk, for the sake of their friend, for the sake of a love that deserved a second chance, for the hope that maybe, just maybe, they could fix what was broken, and bring them back together, like pieces of a shattered mirror, reflecting a love that refused to die.
The dressing room, typically a chaotic haven of creativity and bustling activity, now stood as a silent stage, the air thick with unspoken emotions and the weight of years of regret. You stepped inside, your brow furrowed in confusion, your eyes scanning the room for the supposed "meeting" Mingyu had arranged, a meeting that felt more like an ambush. Hoshi stood near the far wall, his posture rigid, his eyes filled with a nervous intensity that sent a shiver down your spine, a silent plea for understanding, a desperate hope for forgiveness.
"Mingyu said there was a meeting?" you asked, your voice sharp, cutting through the tense silence like a finely honed blade. "Something about a new concept?"
Before Hoshi could respond, the door slammed shut with a resounding thud, the lock clicking into place with an ominous finality. You turned, your eyes widening in disbelief as you realized you were trapped, a pawn in SEVENTEEN's elaborate, and arguably insane, game.
"Mingyu. Mingyu, OPEN THIS DOOR," Hoshi yelled, his voice laced with a desperate urgency, his hands rattling the doorknob with a frantic energy, a silent cry for release. "This isn't funny! You guys are going to regret this! Seriously, open the door!"
"What the hell is this?" you demanded, your voice rising in anger, your eyes flashing with a mixture of confusion and frustration, a silent accusation. "What are you two playing at? Is this some kind of twisted joke? Because if it is, it's not funny."
Hoshi turned to you, his eyes filled with a mixture of apology and desperation, a silent plea for understanding, a desperate attempt to explain. "They locked us in. I don't know why. I swear I had nothing to do with this. I was as surprised as you are."
You crossed your arms, your expression hardening, your eyes narrowed with suspicion, a silent challenge. "They better have a damn good reason. Or I'm going to make them regret they were ever born. I'm going to make sure they learn the meaning of 'prank gone wrong'."
The silence that followed was heavy, thick with unspoken words and unresolved emotions, a silent battleground of regret and longing. You avoided Hoshi's gaze, your eyes fixed on the locked door, your mind racing with a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts, a tempest of emotions. You were trapped, forced into a confrontation you weren't ready for, a forced reckoning with the past, a painful reminder of shattered dreams.
Hoshi shifted uncomfortably, his eyes searching yours, his expression filled with a raw vulnerability that made your heart ache, a silent plea for understanding, a desperate hope for forgiveness. He looked a mess, his hair disheveled, his sweatshirt oversized, his usual confident demeanor replaced by a nervous vulnerability, a broken mask. He looked like the boy you'd known in university, the boy you had loved, the boy who had broken your heart into a million pieces.
"I… I need to talk to you," he said, his voice barely a whisper, a plea for understanding, a silent confession of his deepest regrets.
"Talk?" you scoffed, your voice laced with sarcasm, your eyes filled with a cold anger, a silent accusation. "Now you want to talk? After seven years of silence? After you shattered me into a million pieces and left me to pick them up myself?"
"I know I messed up," he said, his voice thick with regret, his eyes filled with a desperate plea for forgiveness, a silent cry for absolution. "I know I hurt you. And I'm so sorry. More than you can ever know. More than I can ever express."
"Sorry?" you repeated, your voice laced with bitterness, your eyes filled with a cold anger, a silent accusation of his cruelty. "Sorry doesn't fix anything, Soonyoung. It doesn't erase the pain, the years of emptiness, the nights I spent crying myself to sleep."
"I know," he said, his voice barely audible, his eyes filled with a deep, consuming regret, a silent acknowledgment of his failure, a desperate plea for understanding. "But I need you to understand. I need you to know why I did what I did, why I was such a coward, why I made such a terrible mistake."
He took a deep breath, his hands trembling slightly, his eyes filled with a raw vulnerability that made your heart ache, a silent confession of his deepest fears. "I was scared," he confessed, his voice barely a whisper, a broken plea for understanding. "I was scared of ruining your life. I was scared of the rumors, of the gossip, of the pressure. I was scared of what it would do to you, of what it would turn you into. I was terrified of dragging you into my chaotic world."
"So you decided to break me instead?" you retorted, your voice sharp, your eyes filled with a cold anger, a silent accusation of his cruelty. "That was your way of protecting me? By destroying me, by erasing me from your life?"
"No," he said, his voice thick with regret, his eyes filled with a desperate plea for understanding, a silent confession of his cowardice. "That was my way of being a coward. I was selfish. I was weak. I was afraid. I was a fool, a complete and utter fool."
He paused, his eyes searching yours, his expression filled with a raw vulnerability, a silent plea for forgiveness, a desperate hope for redemption. "I loved you," he confessed, his voice barely a whisper, a secret he had kept locked away for years, a confession whispered in the darkness, a desperate plea for understanding. "I loved you then, and I love you now. And that's why I pushed you away. I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought I was protecting you, but I was just protecting myself, my own selfish desires my own selfish needs and dreams."
"Protecting me?" you scoffed, your voice laced with disbelief, your eyes filled with a cold anger, a silent accusation of his betrayal. "You broke me, Hoshi. You shattered me into a million pieces. And now, after seven years, you expect me to believe you? That you loved me? That you still do?"
"I don't expect you to believe me," he said, his voice barely audible, his eyes filled with a deep, consuming regret, a silent acknowledgment of his guilt, a desperate plea for understanding. "I just need you to know the truth. I need you to know that I never stopped caring. I never stopped loving you. You were always in my heart, a constant reminder of my mistakes."
The silence that followed was heavy, thick with unspoken words and unresolved emotions, a silent battleground of regret and longing. You stared at him, your eyes searching his, trying to decipher the truth in his words, trying to reconcile the past with the present. You wanted to believe him, to forgive him, but the pain of the past was a heavy weight, a constant reminder of his betrayal.
"You're so awkward," you said, your voice barely a whisper, a mix of anger and vulnerability, a silent acknowledgment of the lingering affection, a desperate attempt to break the tension. "How are you an idol? How do you command a stage with such… clumsiness?"
Hoshi's face flushed crimson, a flicker of surprise crossing his eyes, a silent confession of his vulnerability, a desperate attempt to hold onto his composure. "What?"
"You're blushing," you teased, a small smile playing on your lips, a hint of the playful banter that had once defined your relationship, a silent test of his sincerity. "Oh my god. You're a mess. A beautiful, awkward mess."
Hoshi's face flushed even deeper, his eyes filled with a mixture of confusion and amusement, a silent acknowledgment of your playful jab, a desperate attempt to regain his footing. "Stop it," he mumbled, his voice laced with a playful annoyance, a silent plea for seriousness, a desperate attempt to hide his vulnerability.
"…….Make me," you retorted, a playful glint in your eyes, a flicker of the old you, a silent challenge, a desperate attempt to find a way back to the past.
The tension in the room shifted, the heavy silence replaced by a fragile lightness, a hint of the connection you had once shared, a silent acknowledgment of the lingering spark. You were teasing him, challenging him, testing the waters, trying to gauge the sincerity of his words, trying to find a way back to the past, to a time before the pain.
Hoshi stepped closer, his eyes searching yours, his expression filled with a raw vulnerability, a silent plea for understanding, a desperate attempt to bridge the gap. "I'm serious," he said, his voice barely a whisper, his eyes filled with a desperate plea. "I love you. I always have. And I always will. And I'm so sorry."
You took a deep breath, your heart pounding in your chest, your emotions a whirlwind of conflicting feelings, a silent battle between hope and fear, a desperate attempt to find clarity. You wanted to believe him, to forgive him, to fall back into the comfort of his arms. But the pain of the past was a heavy weight, a constant reminder of his betrayal.
"I… I don't know what to say," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion, your eyes filled with a mixture of hope and fear, a silent confession of your confusion, a desperate attempt to find the right words.
"You don't have to say anything," he said, his voice soft, his eyes filled with a gentle tenderness, a silent promise, a desperate hope for understanding. "Just listen. Let me explain. Let me show you."
He stepped closer, his hands reaching out to cup your face, his touch sending a shiver down your spine, a silent acknowledgment of the lingering connection, a desperate attempt to bridge the gap. "I know I don't deserve your forgiveness," he said, his voice barely audible, his eyes filled with a deep, consuming regret, a silent confession of his guilt, a desperate plea for redemption. "But I'm begging you, please give me a second chance. Please let me show you that I've changed. Please let me love you again, the way I always should have, the way you deserve."
You closed your eyes, your heart pounding in your chest, your emotions a chaotic mix of hope and fear, a silent battle between forgiveness and pain, a desperate attempt to find a way forward. You wanted to believe him, to forgive him, to fall back into the comfort of his arms. But the pain of the past was a heavy weight, a constant reminder of his betrayal.
"I… I love you too," you whispered, your voice barely audible, a confession you had kept locked away for years, a silent acknowledgment of your enduring love, a desperate hope for a future.
A soft smile spread across Hoshi's face, his eyes filled with a gentle tenderness, a flicker of hope igniting within him, a silent promise of redemption, a desperate attempt to hold onto the fragile hope. "Then please," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, his eyes filled with a desperate plea. "Please give me a second chance. Let me prove I’m worthy of you. Let me show you that I’m not the same man I was then."
You opened your eyes, your gaze meeting his, your heart filled with a mixture of hope and fear, a silent acknowledgment of the risk, a desperate attempt to find the courage to believe. You took a deep breath, your voice trembling slightly. "I… I don't know," you whispered, your voice barely audible, a silent confession of your vulnerability, a desperate plea for reassurance. "I'm scared. I'm still so scared of getting hurt again."
"I know," he said, his voice soft, his eyes filled with a gentle understanding, a silent promise of patience, a desperate attempt to soothe your fears. "But I promise, I won't hurt you again. I'll spend every day proving that I’m worthy of your love. I’ll cherish you. I’ll protect you. I’ll be the man you deserve."
You went on your tiptoes, your lips brushing against his forehead, a soft, gentle kiss that sealed your fate, a silent promise of a second chance, a desperate hope for a new beginning. "I love you more," you whispered, your voice barely audible, a confession of your enduring love, a silent hope for a future where the pain is replaced with healing.
The dressing room, once a space of tension and conflict, now held the fragile promise of a second chance, a testament to the enduring power of love, a silent hope for a new beginning. Outside, SEVENTEEN waited anxiously, their ears pressed against the door, their hearts pounding in anticipation, a silent prayer for a happy ending. They had taken a risk, a gamble that could have shattered everything. But they had also given their friend a chance, a chance to mend broken hearts, to rewrite the past, and to find love again, a chance to rewrite their story, to create a future where love triumphs over pain.
--
The past two years had been a masterclass in clandestine romance, a carefully choreographed dance of secrecy and affection, a delicate tightrope walk between their public personas and their private passions. They navigated the treacherous currents of fame and privacy with the stealth of seasoned spies, their love a precious, hidden treasure, known only to the trusted inner sanctum of SEVENTEEN and the ever-discreet staff, who often found themselves acting as unwitting accomplices in their romantic escapades. Every stolen glance across a crowded room, every whispered confession in a dimly lit corner, every clandestine date in the hushed stillness of the night felt like a thrilling act of rebellion against the omnipresent gaze of the world, a delicious defiance of the spotlight.
Dorm life, already a vibrant, chaotic symphony of laughter, mischief, and controlled pandemonium, became the stage for their secret romance, a playground for their intimate moments. Late-night cuddles under the comforting shroud of darkness, stolen kisses in empty practice rooms, the air thick with the lingering scent of sweat and unspoken desires, and whispered confessions amidst the cacophony of SEVENTEEN's antics became their cherished rituals, the secret language of their love, a silent dialogue spoken in stolen moments. You wore his oversized hoodies, the fabric imbued with his familiar scent, a comforting reminder of his presence, a tangible piece of his affection, a silent declaration of ownership. You "borrowed" his snacks, leaving playful, teasing notes in their place, a silent conversation of love and playful challenge, a battle of wits fought with chocolate and chips. He, in turn, left small, carefully chosen gifts on your desk, tokens of his unwavering devotion, a testament to his growing obsession, each gift a silent poem of his affection.
SEVENTEEN, the self-proclaimed guardians of their love, the mischievous Cupids, the chaotic architects of their romance, never missed an opportunity to tease Hoshi, their group chat a constant stream of hilarious commentary, ridiculous scenarios, and thinly veiled innuendos, a digital theater of their affection. Mingyu, the resident mischief-maker, the master of orchestrated chaos, orchestrated elaborate, hilariously awkward "accidental" encounters, while Seungkwan, the drama king of SEVENTEEN, the theatrical commentator of their love, provided a running commentary, complete with exaggerated sighs, melodramatic pronouncements, and theatrical gasps, a live-action soap opera. Jeonghan, the master of subtle manipulation, the puppet master of their romance, subtly nudged you and Hoshi together, his eyes always twinkling with amusement, his lips curved in a knowing smile, a silent conductor of their love story.
"Hyung, you're blushing harder than a tomato that just won a beauty contest and realized it forgot its acceptance speech," Mingyu would text, accompanied by a close-up picture of Hoshi's flushed face, his eyes wide with barely concealed affection, his cheeks burning crimson.
"When's the wedding? I'm free on Tuesday. I'll bring the rice cakes, the doves, and the emotional support," Seungkwan would add, followed by a string of laughing emojis, his words dripping with playful sarcasm, his tone a theatrical pronouncement.
"Just admit it, Soonyoung-ah, you're whipped. Utterly, completely, and irrevocably whipped. And we love to see it," Jeonghan would chime in, his words laced with playful affection, his eyes sparkling with amusement, his tone a gentle ribbing. "It’s your aesthetic now."
Hoshi, despite his valiant attempts to maintain a facade of composure, a mask of idol cool, couldn't hide his adoration, his growing worship of you, his every action a testament to his devotion. His eyes would soften, his gaze lingering whenever you were near, his laughter would become a gentle melody, a soft symphony of love, and his touch would linger a moment too long, a silent plea for more, a desperate attempt to bridge the gap between their private and public lives. He was a man utterly consumed by love, a fact that both amused and delighted his bandmates, a testament to the power of your love, a love that burned brighter than any stage light.
Then came the infamous drunken live broadcast, a chaotic, hilarious event that would forever be etched in SEVENTEEN's lore, a legendary night of drunken confessions and unbridled chaos, a moment of pure, unfiltered Hoshi. Celebrating a hard-won award, the members, fueled by celebratory drinks and high spirits, decided to go live, their laughter echoing through the dorm, their energy infectious, their inhibitions lowered.
"I wanna get married in my 30s," Hoshi slurred, his eyes glazed with alcohol and adoration, his words a drunken confession, a testament to his deepest desires, a public declaration of his love. "I already found the love of my life. She's my best choice. My absolute best. The most amazing woman in the world. A goddess among women. A queen among mortals."
The chat exploded, a digital firestorm of shocked and excited comments, a tsunami of disbelief, curiosity, and playful teasing, a chaotic symphony of online reactions.
[50,000+ viewers] "WAIT WHAT?"
"WHO IS SHE?! SPILL THE TEA!"
"OH MY GOD HE EXPOSED HIMSELF. GET THE RING READY. AND THE DIVORCE PAPERS, JUST IN CASE."
"Hoshi-hyung, are you okay? Need some water? Or maybe a reality check? Or a therapist?" Mingyu asked, his eyes wide with mock concern, a mischievous glint in their depths, his voice dripping with playful sarcasm, his tone a theatrical performance.
"Never been better," Hoshi declared, his voice slurred but filled with drunken confidence, his eyes filled with a drunken adoration, his words a testament to his unwavering love. "She's perfect. Absolutely perfect. A goddess among women. I don't deserve her. I worship the ground she walks on. She's my universe."
The members exchanged amused glances, their expressions a mix of amusement, disbelief, and a touch of genuine affection, a silent acknowledgment of his unwavering devotion. They knew Hoshi's affection for you ran deep, a love that burned brighter than any stage light, but they hadn't expected him to reveal it to the world in such a spectacular, hilariously chaotic fashion, a drunken masterpiece of confession.
The next morning, Hoshi woke up with a pounding headache, a dry mouth, and a sinking feeling in his stomach, a potent cocktail of regret and embarrassment, a hangover of epic proportions. He vaguely remembered the live broadcast, the laughter, the drinks, but the details were hazy, shrouded in a fog of alcohol-induced amnesia, a blurry montage of drunken declarations.
"Hyung… you kinda… announced your relationship. To the entire world. And called her a goddess. And a queen. And your universe," Mingyu said, his voice laced with amusement, his eyes twinkling with mischief, his grin wide and devilish, his tone a playful accusation.
Hoshi's eyes widened in horror, his face draining of all color, his skin turning a shade of pale that rivaled the moon. "What? No, I didn't. I wouldn't… I'm a professional, I know better. I have self control."
"Oh, but you did," Seungkwan chimed in, holding up his phone, the screen displaying a clip of Hoshi's drunken, yet surprisingly eloquent, confession, a digital testament to his love. "And it's glorious. The stuff of legends. You even serenaded her with a half-remembered ballad, hyung. It was… something."
You walked into the room, a mischievous glint in your eyes, a playful smile playing on your lips, your voice dripping with playful sarcasm, your tone a theatrical challenge. "So when's the wedding? I want kids by the way. And I'm free this weekend. My schedule is wide open for a honeymoon. Preferably somewhere with a beach. Or an island. Or both."
Hoshi's face flushed crimson, a wave of panic washing over him, a desperate attempt to regain his composure. He stammered, his words a jumbled mess of apologies, denials, and desperate pleas for forgiveness, a chaotic symphony of incoherent sounds. "I… I didn't mean to… I was drunk… I'm sorry. Please don't hate me."
He pinned you down on the couch, his voice a low, husky murmur in your ear, a mix of playful threats, whispered apologies, and a hint of possessiveness, a desperate attempt to regain control. "You're enjoying this, aren't you? You're going to pay for this. I'm going to make you regret every single teasing word. I'm going to worship you until you forget your own name."
Then, as quickly as the storm had arrived, he transformed into a cuddly tiger cub, burying his face in your neck, his voice a soft murmur, a desperate plea for reassurance, a silent cry for forgiveness. "Just… don't leave me. Please. I was just being honest. Drunk, but honest. And really, really in love."
"??? HOW DID WE GET HERE," you thought, laughing, a mixture of amusement and affection swirling within you, a chaotic blend of love and exasperation, a silent acknowledgment of his adorable madness. "He's such a mess. But he's my mess. And I wouldn't have it any other way."
The aftermath of Hoshi's drunken confession was a whirlwind of chaos and amusement, a digital circus of reactions, a chaotic symphony of online chatter. The hashtag #HoshiDatingScandal trended on Twitter, a chaotic mix of shocked reactions, supportive messages, hilarious memes, and even a few marriage proposals, a digital testament to his popularity. The members, true to their chaotic nature, fueled the fire, posting cryptic tweets, teasing Hoshi relentlessly, and generally reveling in the glorious mess, a digital celebration of their friendship.
"He's in love, and he doesn't care who knows it. The fool. The beautiful, utterly smitten fool," Jeonghan tweeted, accompanied by a winking emoji, his words dripping with amusement, his tone a gentle ribbing.
"Someone get this man a ring, and a good lawyer. And maybe a muzzle," Mingyu added, followed by a string of laughing emojis, his words laced with playful sarcasm, his tone a theatrical pronouncement.
"I'm officiating the wedding. I've already picked out my outfit. It's a black sequined jumpsuit, with wings. And a tiara. And I'm bringing backup dancers," Seungkwan declared, his words laced with dramatic flair, his expression a picture of theatrical grandeur, his tone a performance.
Hoshi, despite his initial panic, his red face, and his stammering apologies, couldn't help but smile. He had accidentally revealed his deepest secret, the love that consumed him, but he didn't regret it. He loved you, and he wanted the world to know, even if it meant enduring a tidal wave of teasing and chaos, a digital tsunami of reactions. The chaos was a small price to pay for the happiness he had found with you, for the love that made his life complete, a love that was as chaotic and beautiful as SEVENTEEN themselves.
The digital world erupted in a frenzy of speculation and excitement. #HoshiDatingScandal dominated trending topics worldwide, a chaotic mix of supportive messages, angry outbursts, and wild rumors swirling across social media platforms. Fans dissected every word of Hoshi's drunken declaration, scrutinizing old interviews, searching for clues, and creating elaborate theories about your identity.
Some fans, the staunch defenders of Hoshi's privacy, expressed outrage at the invasion of his personal life, demanding respect and understanding. Others, the more possessive and obsessive ones, launched a vitriolic attack, their words laced with jealousy and anger, their targets aimed squarely at you.
"Who does she think she is?"
"She's just using him for fame."
"Hoshi deserves better."
The comments, sharp and cruel, pierced through the carefully constructed walls you had built around yourself. They echoed the whispers of the past, the rumors that had haunted your university days, the pain you had tried so hard to bury.
SEVENTEEN's company, usually quick to issue statements and control the narrative, remained uncharacteristically silent. The members, aware of the delicate situation and Hoshi's genuine affection for you, urged the company to handle the situation with care. They were prepared to defend Hoshi, to support his decision, to stand by his side, no matter the consequences.
The silence from the company fueled the online frenzy, adding fuel to the fire of speculation and rumors. The media, ever hungry for a sensational story, hounded you and Hoshi, their intrusive questions and flashing cameras a constant reminder of the public's intense scrutiny.
Amidst the chaos, you found yourself receiving support from the most unexpected places. Fellow stylists, designers, and industry professionals, many of whom had witnessed your talent and professionalism firsthand, spoke out in your defense, praising your work ethic and integrity.
"She's one of the most talented and dedicated stylists I've ever worked with," one designer tweeted. "These rumors are baseless and unfair."
"I've worked with her on several projects," a photographer added. "She's always been professional and respectful. This backlash is disgusting."
Even some fans, the more rational and open-minded ones, started to rally behind you, their supportive messages a beacon of hope amidst the negativity.
"If Hoshi is happy, we should be happy for him."
"Let's not spread hate. It's not what SEVENTEEN would want."
Hoshi, despite the pressure and the scrutiny, remained steadfast in his support for you. He publicly acknowledged his relationship, his words filled with sincerity and affection, his voice unwavering.
"I love her," he declared in a live broadcast, his eyes filled with a fierce determination. "And I will not apologize for that. She is a wonderful person, and she deserves all the love and support in the world."
His words, honest and heartfelt, silenced some of the negativity, but the tension remained. The aftermath of his drunken confession had thrown your lives into a whirlwind, a chaotic storm of public scrutiny and conflicting opinions.
You and Hoshi leaned on each other, finding strength and comfort in your shared love. You navigated the storm together, hand in hand, determined to protect your relationship from the prying eyes of the world.
The members of SEVENTEEN, your loyal and chaotic support system, were there every step of the way, offering unwavering support, playful teasing, and much-needed laughter. They were your family, your friends, your confidants, and they would do anything to protect you both.
"We got your back, hyung," Mingyu said, his voice firm, his eyes filled with a fierce loyalty.
"Don't let the haters get you down," Seungkwan added, his words laced with dramatic flair, his expression a picture of theatrical support.
"Just focus on each other," Jeonghan advised, his voice soft, his eyes filled with a gentle wisdom.
The journey ahead would be challenging, but you and Hoshi were ready to face it together. Your love, born in secrecy and nurtured in chaos, was strong enough to withstand any storm.
-- The End
#kpop#kpop x reader#kpop fluff#kpop smau#kathaelipwse#seventeen#svt#svt x reader#seventeen x reader#kwon soonyoung#soonyoung fluff#soonyoung imagines#seventeen soonyoung#soonyoung x reader#hoshi x reader#hoshi x you#hoshi x y/n#hoshi x oc#hoshi seventeen#hoshi x woozi#svt x you#svt x y/n#seventeen fluff#seventeen scenarios#seventeen fanfic#seventeen imagines#seventeen x you#seventeen x carat#seventeen x y/n
512 notes
·
View notes
Note
tumbler user @staplertwst here!
i still don't really know how to write requests or if you have a character limit for requests but uhhh
may i ask for vil, adeuce, and a character of your choice with reader/yuu being a really doting and affectionate and unconditionally sweet person to their friends because they wanted someone like that in their life but never did. they never ask people to reciprocate but they need it sooo bad it's actually really sad??
(if that makes sense :p)
have a swagtastic dayyy
𐔌 . ⋮ bittersweet giving .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱
☓┆ Vil, Ace, Deuce, & Trey x gn! reader (separate)
𓏵 995 words
ᝰ.ᐟ headcanons, no pronouns used, hurt/comfort
Decided with Trey for the fourth character, hopefully this fulfills your request (๑•́ω•̀) feel free to like, reblog, or comment!
ᝰ.ᐟ masterlist
Vil noticed it in the little things first.
The way you remembered others’ routines, how you’d pack extra snacks for your friends just in case they get hungry or give Epel a warm pat on the back when he came out of a difficult etiquette lesson. You weren’t loud or attention-seeking with your affection, but it was everywhere—consistent, thoughtful, always pouring outward.
To him, it was admirable. But one day, in the quiet of a shared afternoon tea, he noticed the cracks.
“You always care so much for others,” he said, watching you gently fold a napkin beside his tea cup, “but who does the same for you?”
Your smile faltered just a little. “That’s not really what matters.”
But it did matter. He saw the hollowness in your eyes when the laughter faded. The way you reached for warmth, not because you expected it, but because you didn’t know what it felt like to be held.
Vil set his teacup down with a soft clink.
“You deserve to be adored too,” he said. “To have someone think of you first. To be held like you're precious—not for how you give, but because you're you.”
You didn’t speak, just blinked rapidly, startled. And then you were in his arms, soft and trembling, finally letting yourself be small. He held you as tightly and as gracefully as he knew how.
“I see you,” Vil whispered. “And from now on, I will love you as fiercely as you’ve loved everyone else.”
─────────────────────────
Ace teased you a lot. That was his love language, after all. But even he couldn’t deny there was something strange about the way you treated others; like you were constantly giving out love as if trying to prove something, and never letting yourself ask for anything back.
He caught you one evening, staying late to help someone with a project that wasn’t yours.
“Y’know, you don’t have to keep playing the guardian angel,” he said with a lazy grin, trying to sound playful. “You could let someone take care of you for once.”
You laughed, but it was weak. “I’m fine. Really.”
Ace didn’t believe you. And later that night, he found you curled up in Ramshackle, reading something quietly, but your eyes weren’t moving across the page. You looked so... alone.
He plopped down beside you, suddenly serious.
“Hey. Look, I suck at this kind of stuff, but—I see how much you do for everyone. How nice you are. And I don’t think it’s fair that no one returns the favor.”
You looked at him with a mix of confusion and pain, like you didn’t expect him to say anything like that. So he added, softly:
“I’ll stick around, okay? Even if you never ask. I’ll stay. ‘Cause you deserve someone who sees how tired you are, not just how sweet.”
And for once, you leaned into someone instead of away. He held your pinky under the table. Didn't let go.
─────────────────────────
You reminded Deuce of his mother—kind, nurturing, endlessly patient. But even his mother had people who loved her back. With you, he noticed, that affection only went one way.
It broke his heart.
You always said things like “don’t worry about me” or “as long as you're okay, I’m happy.” But he noticed the way your smile strained when no one thanked you. When everyone moved on after taking the warmth you gave so freely.
So one day, when you handed him a water bottle after his practice and brushed some dirt off his jacket, he couldn’t take it anymore.
“Why do you do that?” he asked quietly. “Why do you act like... you don’t need anything?”
You froze. That wasn’t a question people asked.
“Because no one ever gave me anything when I needed it,” you said finally. “So I guess I just got used to... giving. It makes people stay.”
Deuce’s throat tightened. He stepped forward and gently placed his hands on your shoulders.
“You don’t have to do that with me. I’ll stay, even if you never lift a finger. I care about you for you, not what you do for me.”
You tried to speak, but the tears hit first. Deuce held you close and let you cry. He wiped your cheeks with his sleeves and didn’t leave your side until the tears ran out.
“You’re allowed to need love too.”
─────────────────────────
Trey was the one who noticed how tired you looked after everyone else left. The one who saw how you stayed back to clean, how your voice stayed warm even when your eyes were dull. How you gave everything and accepted crumbs.
He invited you to the kitchen one night after the others had gone, letting you stir the batter while he prepared tea.
“I hope you know,” he said gently, “that you don’t have to keep earning your place here.”
You blinked, startled. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” he said, turning to face you, “that you’re always showing up for others. Always being kind. But I don’t think anyone’s ever really shown up for you. And that’s not fair.”
Your hand shook slightly. You looked down. “I guess... I just want to be wanted. Even if it’s just for how I make others feel.”
Trey quietly took the bowl from your hands and placed it aside. Then he took your hands in his—floury, warm, grounding.
“I want you. Even if you were cold, or messy, or forgot to smile. I’d still be here. Not because you’ve earned it. But because you deserve it.”
You broke down in his arms, and he held you with a tenderness that needed no words. That night, for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel alone.
#۶ৎ qka daydreams!#twisted wonderland#twst#disney twisted wonderland#disney twst#twisted wonderland x reader#twst x reader#vil schoenheit#vil schoenheit x reader#vil schoenheit x you#ace trappola#ace trappola x reader#ace trappola x you#deuce spade#deuce spade x you#deuce spade x reader#trey clover#trey clover x reader#trey clover x you#twst vil x reader#twst ace x reader#twst deuce x reader#twst trey x reader#hurt/comfort
433 notes
·
View notes