#ohmynabiii

[ohmynabiii]

𝐅𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐘𝐨𝐮 ; 𝐬𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐦𝐢𝐧 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

short and sweet fluff <3

your first kiss

𝐜𝐰 : none, all ages are welcome to read :)

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 1.6k 

—

“It’s always in these quiet moments, just after sunset, when the world is painted in soft twilight, that you feel most at ease beside Seungmin.”

His shoulder brushes yours as you walk, the touch lingering like an unsaid promise. You’ve only known each other for a month, yet it feels like a lifetime — like you've always known the sound of his laughter when it slips from his lips, the way it builds until he’s clutching his stomach, his hand instinctively covering his mouth. You’ve learned the little things: his favorite foods, the ones he wrinkles his nose at, how his eyes light up when he talks about baseball, and the way he turns shy under your gaze, his confidence faltering for just a moment. And somehow, he’s memorized the same small, intricate details about you.

There’s something about Seungmin that draws you in, like you could lose yourself in the depths of his eyes, in the rhythm of his words. The nights you spend together have become a ritual, drifting into conversations that spill into the evening air, neither of you wanting them to end. He listens as if each word you say is something to be treasured, and when he speaks, you find yourself hanging on every syllable, drawn in by the sincerity behind them. 

Now, like you’ve done many nights that sacred month, the two of you walk side by side through the familiar streets, the conversations between you flowing as effortlessly as the night breeze. There’s a tension in the air, subtle but undeniable, something more than friendship settling between the spaces of your words. And though neither of you has said anything, it lingers, waiting to be acknowledged.

“You’re really intelligent, you know that?” The words escape your lips before you can stop them, but now that they're out, you can’t help but follow through. “I mean, the way you speak… it’s so thoughtful, like you’ve really considered everything before you say it. It makes me want to keep listening.”

His eyes widen at your sudden confession, the surprise evident as a soft blush creeps up his cheeks. He quickly turns his head toward you, as if searching your face for sincerity, but the warmth in his eyes betrays the shyness he’s trying to hide.

“You’re not just smart, Seungmin… you make people feel like their words matter.” There’s a hint of embarrassment in your voice, but the relief of finally saying it outweighs your nerves. You’ve been wanting to tell him this from the moment you realized how deeply he listens, how effortlessly he makes you feel heard.

For a moment, he’s quiet, as if weighing your words carefully. Then, a soft smile tugs at the corner of his lips, his blush deepening under the fading light. “I didn’t know I did that,” he murmurs, almost to himself, his voice low and warm. His eyes flicker to yours again, and there’s a softness there, something unspoken hanging between you, lingering in the space of the moment. 

You quickly look away, a sudden wave of shyness bubbling up inside you. The air between you feels almost too thick to breathe, the quiet weight of something unspoken pressing down on your chest. As your eyes wander, searching for something—anything—to break the tension, you spot it: a faint, glowing light in the distance. A small, vintage photo booth sits tucked away at the corner of the street, its neon sign flickering invitingly, like it’s calling to you.

Your heart skips a beat as excitement overtakes the nerves. “Look!” you exclaim, pointing at it. Without thinking, you grab Seungmin’s hand, a burst of adrenaline pushing away the lingering tension. “We have to take pictures!”

He blinks, caught off guard by your sudden enthusiasm, but follows you with a soft laugh. “A photo booth?” he asks, amusement mingling with a hint of nerves in his voice. He’s been unusually quiet all night, but you don’t dwell on it as you pull him closer.

The booth looks even more charming up close, its faded paint and soft, glowing interior giving it a nostalgic warmth. You lift the curtain and slide inside, barely able to contain your excitement. Seungmin hesitates for a moment before sitting beside you, the small space forcing your knees to bump and shoulders to press together. The closeness stirs something inside you, a flutter of nerves that you try to ignore.

You fumble with the coins, your excitement getting the better of you, and one slips from your fingers, clattering to the floor of the booth. “Oops,” you mumble, bending down to grab it, just as Seungmin does the same.

Your heads collide with a soft thud, both of you freezing at the unexpected contact.

“Ow,” you laugh awkwardly, rubbing your forehead as a nervous giggle escapes your lips. Seungmin’s eyes widen, a startled smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Sorry,” he mutters, his voice soft and apologetic, his own hand brushing against his forehead. For a moment, you’re both stuck in this awkward dance of flustered apologies and quiet laughter, neither of you quite sure what to do next.

You finally manage to pick up the coin, the air between you lighter but still charged with something more, something unsaid. As you straighten back up and drop the coin into the slot, the machine hums to life again, the countdown starting on the screen.

“Ready?” you ask, glancing at Seungmin. He nods, but there’s something in his expression—an intensity, a quiet sort of tension that wasn’t there before.

The first flash goes off, capturing your smiles, your faces still a safe distance apart. For the second shot, you make a funny face, and Seungmin laughs, some of his earlier nervousness melting away. But by the third picture, things shift again. You’re closer now, your knees brushing with each breath, the air between you thickening once more. 

The countdown for the third photo begins, but this time, Seungmin doesn’t move. He glances at the screen, then back at you, his expression unreadable. The numbers tick down, and just as you expect the flash, he speaks, his voice soft, almost hesitant.

“Can I kiss you?”

The question hangs in the air, quiet but heavy, and your heart skips a beat. You weren’t expecting it, and the sudden vulnerability in his voice makes the moment feel more intimate, more real than anything you’ve felt with him before.

You meet his eyes, wide and sincere, and for a second, all the playful banter, all the lingering tension, comes rushing back to you. You’ve thought about this, about him, but the way he asks—careful, as if he’s giving you a choice, a way out if you want it—makes your heart ache in a way you didn’t expect.

The camera flashes, but neither of you move. 

You swallow, your voice barely above a whisper. “Yes.”

Seungmin exhales, like he’s been holding his breath, and slowly—so slowly it’s almost painful—he leans in. His hand hovers near yours, as if unsure whether to take it. His eyes never leave yours, searching your face for any sign of hesitation. But there is none.

When his lips finally brush yours, it’s tentative, soft, like a question being asked again with each gentle movement. The kiss is hesitant, sweet and shy, as if he’s afraid of moving too fast, of breaking whatever delicate thing has been building between you. Your heart hammers in your chest, every inch of your skin buzzing with nervous energy.

The final flash of the camera goes unnoticed, the picture snapping without either of you caring. All that exists is the warmth of Seungmin’s lips on yours, the closeness that fills the tiny booth, and the quiet realization that everything between you has changed.

When he pulls back with unsteady breath, his face is flushed, and he looks at you like he’s unsure of what to say, his breath uneven, lips parted as if he’s trying to figure out what just happened. His expression is a mixture of surprise and something deeper, something that’s been building between you all night, maybe even longer.

You smile, feeling as flustered as he looks, the butterflies in your stomach refusing to settle. “That… that was nice,” you murmur, your voice shaking a little, as if you’re afraid of saying the wrong thing.

Seungmin glances down at the floor, rubbing the back of his neck with a nervous chuckle. “Yeah… it was,” he mumbles, his blush deepening as his eyes flicker back up to meet yours, his shyness mirroring your own.

You both sit in a comfortable silence for a moment, the world outside fading into the background. Seungmin finally looks at you, his eyes soft yet searching, and you feel a warmth spread through you as you meet his gaze. “I think I blinked… can we do it again?” you suggest shyly, gesturing toward the camera. A shy smile breaks through Seungmin’s earlier nerves as he reaches to put another coin into the machine.

“Definitely.” His response makes your heart race with anticipation, a flutter of excitement at the thought of capturing this moment again. As the countdown restarts, you lean back in closer, the warmth of his presence enveloping you once more. You can feel the electric buzz between you, and in that sweet, shy moment, you both know this experience—filled with laughter and a hint of longing—will linger in your memory long after the photos are developed. The camera flashes, freezing another moment, as you both bask in the promise of what’s yet to come.

—

𝐚𝐧 : hope you enjoyed!! please don't hesitate to share any feedback :)

thank you for reading!! more to come soon...

🦋

[ohmynabiii]

𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐰𝐨 ; 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬

────୨ৎ──── 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 : romance, fluff, chan as a father of two imagines

𝐚𝐧 : I think this is one of the most adorable/wholesome things I’ve ever written.

This made me realize Channie will be an AMAZING dad if he ever has children… those will be some lucky ass kids. 

Anyway, this was SO fun to do, so let me know if you guys want me to do the other members!! 

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 1k

────୨ৎ────

He’s always being silly with them, chasing them around the house as they giggle and shriek with joy.

The tickles are non-stop. He’ll even rope you into it: “Should we give Mommy some tickles? I think… YES!” And then all three of them will pounce, leaving you a laughing, breathless mess.

He spends hours pushing them on the swings, diving under for extra fun, no matter how tired he gets. He’ll keep going as long as they ask.

Whenever you’re out as a family, one kid is always riding on his shoulders, the other holding his or your hand, making you feel like the sweetest unit.

During family dance parties, he blasts Stray Kids’ songs and dances around the living room with them, showing them all the choreo. They may not get it quite right, but they’re having the best time.

He’s constantly on edge when they’re running around or eating too fast, gently reminding them to slow down while squeezing your hand a little tighter for comfort.

When one of them falls down, he’s immediately there to scoop them up. “Where does it hurt?” he asks with wide eyes. They’ll point with a pout, and he’ll dramatically kiss it better until they’re giggling and off to play again.

You and Chan read to them every night, turning storytime into a full-blown performance, complete with voices and gestures. Sometimes you get so into it, you forget the stories are supposed to put the kids to sleep, not you two.

On days when you’re feeling overwhelmed, he takes the kids to the park or the zoo for the whole day, giving you a much-needed breather to recharge.

The rest of Stray Kids joins in the fun just as much. Uncle Minho and Felix are always up for babysitting when it’s date night for you two.

If a nightmare wakes one of them, you both cuddle up close. “Nothing can hurt you when we’re here,” he says softly, and you add, “You’re loved and safe.” You smile at each other over their heads, feeling so lucky to share this moment.

He brings them to the studio sometimes, showing them his equipment, letting them tap buttons and twist knobs like they’re junior producers.

Mealtime is always fun with Chan—he never skips the airplane sound while feeding them, zooming the spoon toward their little mouths with a silly “brrr.”

If they’re picky eaters, no problem. He never forces them to eat what they don’t like, but somehow always sneaks those healthy veggies into his cooking—ninja-dad style.

He’s always encouraging them to ask for help when they need it, teaching them to be brave and kind.

He loves making surprise picnics in the backyard, complete with little sandwiches, juice boxes, and a blanket fort—because why not make the ordinary feel magical?

He’s the master of bedtime cuddles, always making sure they fall asleep knowing they’re loved, protected, and their dreams are theirs to chase.

He plays his guitar softly while they fall asleep, creating the perfect lullaby just for them, humming sweetly as their little eyes drift shut.

He gives them pep talks before big school days, telling them, “You can do anything if you believe in yourself,” and reminding them that he’s their biggest fan.

When he’s working late at the studio, he FaceTimes them to say goodnight, blowing kisses through the screen and promising to tuck them in tomorrow night.

On lazy mornings, he’ll gather everyone up on the couch for a “Stray Kids movie marathon,” introducing them to the music videos and behind-the-scenes clips, laughing as they point and yell, “That’s Daddy!”

He’s the ultimate hype man for their art projects, hanging every drawing, painting, or craft they make on the fridge with pride, saying, “Wow! You’re so talented!”

He loves teaching them little bits of Korean and English, blending the two languages into their playtime so they grow up with both cultures in their hearts.

His phone’s photo gallery is filled with pictures of them—sleeping, playing, eating, doing anything.He’s always snapping a photo, capturing every sweet memory.

He wears matching outfits with them sometimes, usually a cute hoodie or hat, and they’ll walk around together looking like a coordinated squad.

He lets them "help" when he's working on music, giving them little jobs like pressing a button or clapping in the microphone, and then playing it back for them with a big smile.

If they’re having a rough day, he’ll scoop them up in his arms and say, “You’ve got this, because you’re my kid,” and that’s all the comfort they need.

He takes pride in building their toys, from Lego sets to dollhouses, putting everything together perfectly—then sitting down to play with them for hours.

He’s always wearing the little accessories they make him—bracelets, necklaces, even a glittery crown once—and he rocks it like it’s high fashion.

He plays them Stray Kids’ music when they’re in the car, but he’s always more excited to see them dance to it than they are.

On birthdays, he goes all out—decorating the house, baking a cake, and even writing them their own little birthday song because “you only deserve the best!”

He’s quick to apologize if he’s ever stern with them, teaching them that even grown-ups make mistakes and it’s important to say sorry.

He makes sure they know how important kindness is, often saying, “Being a good person is way cooler than anything else, right?” and they always nod in agreement.

🦋

[ohmynabiii]

𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐬 𝐢𝐭:

you got this :)

[ohmynabiii]

𝐌𝐮𝐬𝐞 ; 𝐡𝐲𝐮𝐧𝐣𝐢𝐧 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

In the quiet intimacy of a shared art studio, two artists navigate the delicate balance between creative passion and unspoken desire, their bond deepening in the shadows of late-night work sessions. When the lights flicker off one evening, the darkness reveals feelings that neither can easily ignore, leaving them both wondering what will come to light when the power returns. 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫 !! : this is PART ONE of an incomplete series. series should be read in order.

link to part two !!

part three - unreleased

part four - unreleased

𝐜𝐰 : none, all ages are welcome to read :)

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 : slow-burn, artist au, student au, fluff, romance

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 1.7k

────୨ৎ──── "You feel the weight of Hyunjin’s gaze long before you dare to look up. It lingers between you, dense and electric, winding through the quiet hum of the studio like a current."

Your hands glide over cool clay, fingers smoothing the surface as you coax the delicate curve of a collarbone into being, each press of your thumb drawing it closer to life. The sculpture seems to breathe under your touch, its form responding to you in a way that feels almost human.

The sensation of being observed is familiar—artists often study one another, dissecting technique and form, learning, feeding their curiosity... But Hyunjin’s attention is something else entirely. His presence is usually a steady hum, the quiet comfort of someone sharing your space. But when his gaze finds you, it's like the air thickens, charged and alive. It's not like the passing glances you get from others—his eyes seem to peel back the layers of your artistic mind, seeing more than just the motion of your hands. 

You press your thumb into the clavicle of the sculpture, trailing down with careful precision, feeling the texture of the clay as if it were your own skin. The heat of his occasional gaze stays with you, a whispering presence that makes it difficult to focus. It’s not just the sculpture he’s observing. With Hyunjin, it’s as if he’s tracing the invisible thread of your thoughts, searching for something deeper, something you’ve never spoken aloud.

Time slips away unnoticed, the evening fading into the quiet of night. The soft glow of the two desk lamps casts long shadows over your hands, bathing the studio in a warm, amber light. Beyond the tall windows, the city sleeps, forgotten in the hush of your shared space. You and Hyunjin are both here, long past when most would have packed up and left, driven by the pressure of the upcoming gallery—your first showcase together. It simmers like a distant storm, but neither of you speak of it. Instead, the room is filled only with the subtle rhythm of creation, your hands working clay, his brush whispering across the canvas. 

You dare a glance across the room, finally giving in to temptation. He’s there, his paintbrush idle, his dark eyes following the movement of your hands. His expression is unreadable, but there’s something in his stillness that sends a shiver through you. It’s like he’s painting you in his mind, not in rough strokes of observation, but with the soft, deliberate lines of fascination.

When your eyes meet his, Hyunjin’s lips curve into a soft, almost shy smile. “It’s beautiful,” he says quietly, his voice a low, intimate murmur that seems to hang in the air. His eyes flicker to the sculpture, then back to you, the compliment slipping out as though it had always been there, waiting to be spoken.

Caught off guard, you step back, wiping your hands on the worn fabric of your apron, trying to steady the flutter in your chest. You glance at the sculpture—at the form you’ve been shaping for hours—and try to see it through his eyes. The smooth curve of the clay, the gentle bend of the shoulders, the subtle life emerging beneath your hands. “Thanks,” you manage, feeling the warmth rise to your cheeks.

You clear your throat, your gaze drifting to his easel, where a half-finished painting rests. Its colors are rich and full of motion, even in its incomplete state. “Yours too,” you say softly, the words slipping out with more tenderness than you intended. His smile deepens at that, a flicker of something unspoken passing between you.

The moment stretches, the silence thickening with the weight of it. For a heartbeat, neither of you move, eyes locked in the quiet intensity of the space between you. Then, as if by some unspoken agreement, you both pull away, the tension settling back into the familiar rhythm of the studio. You dip your fingers into the bucket of water beside you, letting the coolness ground you, smoothing over the fingerprints left behind on the sculpture.

This isn’t the first time you’ve felt it—this simmering, unspoken tension that’s always lingered between you and Hyunjin. From the moment you were assigned this shared studio, something had crackled between you, always just beneath the surface. But you never acknowledged it. Instead, you fell into an easy rhythm, late nights spent working long past the time when the other students had gone home. Critiques exchanged in the early hours, a quiet camaraderie as the city slept beyond the windows. Heading out for a late-night bite after a long session of sculpting and painting.

But then, there were always these moments—stolen glances, the lingering gaze when he thought you weren’t looking, or lingering near your sculptures when he assumed you’d left for the night. The way his fingers would ghost over the edges of your work, as if trying to understand the heart of it. Of you. And there were times you found your own eyes drifting toward him, watching the quiet intensity with which he painted, how he seemed to pour himself into every stroke, his work as much a reflection of himself as it was the world around him.

And there were the compliments. Like tonight, they were always subtle, easy, slipped into conversations as if they were nothing. But they stayed with you, a glance that lingered too long, a smile that spoke of something more. You wonder if he feels it too—the spark that always seems just a breath away from igniting. Maybe it’s safer this way, you tell yourself, keeping it buried beneath the weight of clay and paint. And yet, tonight, with his eyes tracing the contours of your unfinished sculpture everytime he pulls away from his painting, it feels like something is shifting.

The ache in your hands pulls you from your thoughts, the weight of the day pulling at your eyelids, exhaustion settling in like a heavy fog. You step back from the sculpture, fingers stiff with the hours spent shaping the clay, and a wave of realized exhaustion washes over you like a slow tide. Glancing at the clock, you realize how late it’s gotten. The soft hum of Hyunjin’s brush is the only sound that breaks the silence of the studio. He’s still working, completely absorbed, his brow furrowed in concentration. 

You sigh softly and wander toward the small couch in the corner of the studio, curling up with a quiet groan. As you settle into the cushions, Hyunjin’s laughter drifts across the room. “Taking a break?” His voice is gentle, amused.

“Mmm,” you hum, barely able to keep your eyes open. “Wake me up in twenty.” The last words tumble out as you sink into the cushions, your body surrendering to sleep almost immediately.

The quiet in the room deepens, the gentle scrape of Hyunjin’s brush is the last thing you hear before slipping away. 

────୨ৎ────

Minutes pass, maybe more—time becoming a blur in your haze of exhaustion, the studio a cocoon of quiet. Hyunjin steps back from his easel eventually, stretching and cracking his stiff joints, his gaze drifting toward you, curled up on the couch. He watches for a moment, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he takes in the peaceful rise and fall of your breathing.

He reaches for the blanket draped over the back of the couch, the fabric brushing your shoulder as he lays it over you gently. You shift in your sleep, a contented sigh escaping your lips, and Hyunjin stands there, frozen, his eyes lingering on you longer than he intends. The studio light casts a soft glow over your features, peaceful in the quiet. Then, with a quiet breath, he turns back to his easel, casting one last glance in your direction.

────୨ৎ────

The warmth of the rising sun wakes you, the studio bathed in the soft, golden light of dawn. You sit up slowly, rubbing the sleep from your eyes and stretching, realizing that hours have passed since you closed your eyes. Hyunjin is nowhere to be seen, and you curse softly under your breath, annoyed that he didn’t wake you as you’d asked.

Your eyes fall to the coffee table, where a piece of paper sits folded neatly. You reach for it, the edges still rough from being torn hastily from his sketchbook. As you unfold it, your breath catches. It’s you—curled up on the couch, drawn with a tenderness that makes your heart stutter. The lines are soft, flowing, capturing every detail—the curve of your body, the gentle rise of your chest, the way your hair spills over the pillow. It’s not just a sketch; it’s a moment frozen in time, one you hadn’t even realized you shared with him.

It hits you then, the knowledge that while you were tucked into sleep, unaware of the world around you, Hyunjin was watching over you, his focus entirely on you. There’s something so tender in that thought, so quietly protective. The air between you has always buzzed with unspoken words, with the pull of something simmering just beneath the surface, but this—this feels different. More intimate. Like in those moments, he allowed himself to see you in a way that even you hadn’t noticed. 

Your heart flutters, a mix of warmth and something more—something deeper, stirring in your chest. The sketch seems to say what neither of you has dared to speak aloud, a silent confession woven into each line. You run your fingers over the sketch, feeling the faint imprint of his hand where he pressed harder with the charcoal, when you notice his familiar scrawl at the bottom of the page:  "I didn’t have the heart to wake you. You needed the rest. Goodnight~"

A faint smile tugs at your lips as you hold the sketch close, the soft morning light filtering through the windows, casting a golden hue over the studio, and wrapping you in warmth.

────୨ৎ────

𝐚𝐧 : hope you enjoyed!! please don't hesitate to share any feedback :)

thank you for reading!! more to come soon...

🦋

[ohmynabiii]

𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐞 𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐭 :,)

Okay, so I understand that this is far from what I usually post, but I feel the need to say it:

(apologies for any writing mistakes, I had a hard time holding back tears lol) So I recently saw a clip of Bang Chan saying he never takes care of himself because he's always busy looking after the other members. It must be such a difficult balance—producing, leading Stray Kids, and enduring the immense pressure of being an idol. Constantly having to look perfect, filter every word, and manage every action. I can only imagine how exhausting it is just being a K-pop idol, but Chan goes even further. He co-produces most of Stray Kids' songs and seems to be caught in this endless cycle of trying to prove himself, not only to his members but to the world.

It's that perfectionist side of him, the inner voice telling him he’s not good enough, when in reality, he is more than enough. He shines brighter than any idol I know. He's like a warm embrace at the end of a long day, the smell of freshly cooked breakfast in the morning, the beating heart of Stray Kids. So many people see what he and the members have created as "home." There is no Stray Kids without Chan. There is no sense of comfort without him.

I wish he could see that—how many people adore him and his art. He started so young, too, never really getting the chance to grow into himself before presenting to the world. I can’t imagine how difficult that must be, having millions of people know your name before you’ve fully figured out who you are.

It's not just the music, either—it's the connection he fosters with his fans, how he pours himself into every livestream, every word of encouragement. There’s something so selfless about him, the way he gives so much of his energy to others without asking for anything in return. It makes me wonder how often he gets to just *be*—without the weight of expectations, without feeling the need to constantly achieve. I think many of us see him as this pillar of strength, but even pillars need rest.

I hope he knows it’s okay to lean on others, to take a break, to simply exist without having to prove his worth. Because his worth isn’t tied to how productive he is, how many songs he writes, or how well he leads. His worth is in who he is, and that’s more than enough.

And maybe that’s the hardest part for him—the constant push and pull between being someone’s leader, producer, and friend, while also trying to stay grounded in his own sense of self. It’s hard to imagine where he finds the time to just reflect, to listen to his own needs when he’s so busy listening to everyone else’s. I wonder if he’s ever able to truly step away from the responsibilities, the unspoken expectations that come with being the ‘glue’ of Stray Kids. Maybe that’s why so many of us resonate with him—we see a bit of ourselves in his struggle, that desire to do everything and be everything for everyone, even when it feels impossible.

But I hope he knows it’s okay to put himself first, to protect his own peace. Because without him, there would be a void, not just in the group but in the hearts of the people he’s touched. His music, his kindness, his energy—those things are irreplaceable. He has given so much of himself to the world, and I think it’s time the world gives a little back to him. We all want him to succeed, not just as a leader but as a person, to find joy and fulfillment in the quiet moments, when the stage lights are off and the world isn’t watching.

He deserves to know that he’s enough just as he is—that even when he’s not creating, performing, or leading, his presence is more than enough. Chan isn’t just the heart of Stray Kids; he’s the heart of so many people’s lives, the comfort they seek at the end of the day. And I hope, more than anything, he feels that same comfort within himself. He deserves it.

But damn, do I miss those Channie’s hugs.

🦋

[ohmynabiii]

𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 ; 𝐥𝐞𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈

He leans in, impossibly closer, the sudden traces of what had to be his cologne; smoke, musk, sandalwood overtaking your senses. “Ever been to a live show?"

“Does watching my friends drunkenly butcher ‘Bikini Kill’ in karaoke count?” you tease, sucking in your bottom lip for a second. Minho's eyes briefly flick down to catch the movement, his smirk deepening.

“I was thinking something a bit... louder.”

────୨ৎ────

𝐜𝐰 : substance use (cover your drinks, don't accept anything from strangers, know the risks, etc...)

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 : romance, tension, rock/band au, aespa cameo :)

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 2.1k

𝐚𝐧: hi !! this is kinda a feeler for a series I'm looking to do in the future... if you want more parts, interact pretty please !!

if you aren't an aespa fan, no worries!! the fic is abt minho, the aespa members just play side-characters.

metalhead minho is my roman empire.

AND HE'S TATTED 🥵🔥

────୨ৎ────

The amber glow of the restaurant’s lights pours over your table like molten gold draping everything in a soft, velvety haze. The hum of conversation undulates in the background, weaving through the occasional clink of silverware and the low murmur of distant laughter. Yet within your booth, nestled in the plush leather seats, the world feels intimate, almost suspended in time—just you and your closest friends, insulated in your own little cocoon. Half-finished plates are scattered across the table, and in between bouts of laughter, you absently reach for another bite.

Karina leans forward, her eyes gleaming with mischief, lips curling into a smile that threatens to pull everyone else into her orbit. “Remember that time in Paris?” she begins, her voice soft yet brimming with amusement, as though the memory itself is a secret she’s about to unveil. “You got us hopelessly lost searching for that underground record store.”

A laugh escapes you, shaking your head in protest. “I was aiming for spontaneity. It was supposed to be an adventure.”

“Adventure?” Winter cuts in, swirling the ice in her glass with a lazy flick of her wrist. The glass catches the light, refracting it in delicate shards as she points it your way. “We ended up in some back-alley labyrinth, and you were the only one not remotely concerned—determined as ever.”

Giselle nudges you with a playful jab of her elbow, her grin infectious. “But it all worked out! We stumbled into that adorable café, and you totally charmed the waiter with your flawless French.”

A flush rises unbidden to your cheeks, the memory warm and effervescent, like the alcohol bubbling in your veins. You sip from your glass, feeling the familiar burn glide down your throat, its heat spreading through your chest in a slow, pleasant wave.

Ningning, lounging back in her seat with an air of theatrical satisfaction, flips her hair with a flourish. “Please. Nothing compares to Tokyo. The impromptu karaoke session? Birthday Girl over here killed it.” She punctuates the memory with a grand, exaggerated bow in your direction, prompting the table to erupt in laughter that fizzes like champagne—light, giddy, impossible to contain.

You raise a brow, heat creeping into your cheeks under their teasing. “Oh, come on. You’re overselling it.”

Karina’s grin softens, her eyes locking with yours, her voice slipping into something more sincere but still tinted with tipsy mumbling. “Hey, I– we only speak the absolute truth.”

Before the moment can tip into something overly sentimental, Giselle raises her glass, her smile radiant, cutting through the dim lighting like a beacon. “To birthdays, to unforgettable nights, and to us,” she proclaims, her voice bold, lifting the atmosphere. “Happy birthday.”

The crystalline sound of clinking glasses resonates, cutting through the hum of the restaurant, marking the moment like a delicate chime. You drain the last of your drink, the warmth settling deep into your bones, sinking further as the night deepens. The laughter dies down, but the air remains thick with the joy of the evening.

Pushing yourself up from the booth, you announce with a playful smile, “Alright, I’m getting us another round.”

Winter pouts immediately, her lips curving in mock protest, her tipsy indignation palpable. “No way—it’s your birthday! Someone else should do it!” She casts a playful glance at Karina. “You’re the oldest. Go.”

Karina feigns a glare, already starting to slide out of the booth, but before she can rise, you place a hand on her shoulder, gently halting her. “No, really, I’ve got it. I need to stretch my legs, anyway.”

With their drink orders filed away in your mind, you make your way through the maze of tables, weaving between chairs with an easy grace. The bar’s honey glow envelops you as you lean against the counter, the polished wood cool beneath your fingers. In the reflection of the liquor bottles, you catch a glimpse of yourself—cheeks flushed, eyes slightly glazed with contentment, hair tousled from hours of laughter. You smile to yourself, the warmth of the evening thrumming through you like a quiet pulse, wrapping you in its languid embrace.

Then, the bartender turns your way.

His presence pulls you out of your thoughts as though gravity itself has shifted. And wow, he’s like something out of a dream; The kind of man who looks too flawless to exist outside the confines of a renaissance painting—his chiseled jaw, the curve and gentle pout of his lips, his eyes with a depth and darkness that seem almost feline in the dim light. His black t-shirt clings to his broad chest, the neckline a little too low for your heart to keep steady, and dark-washed jeans hug his frame in a way that should be illegal. The amber glow of the bar’s lights only enhances the ethereal glow of his skin, casting golden flecks along his cheekbones. You wonder for a split second if this man was sculpted out of marble, crafted by hands too talented for this world. He’s too surreal, too perfect to have just... walked up to you in the middle of your birthday.

For a moment, you wonder if touching him would feel like running your fingers over polished marble. He’s too perfect, too unreal, like something the universe conjured up just to mess with you. The kind of guy you only meet in your wildest dreams or movies with all too-high production values. Broad shoulders, cat-like eyes that glint in the light, and a subtle smile that hits like a slow burn.

As he approaches, your brain scrambles for the right words—poetic, sophisticated words to match this moment. Celestial, maybe. Or mesmeric. Anything to capture the feeling of him coming closer. But the alcohol muddles your thoughts, and before you know it, he’s right there in front of you, breaking whatever spell you’ve been under.

“What can I get you, birthday girl?” His voice is smooth, rich, and velvety, as intoxicating as his looks.

You blink, thrown off by the title. "...How’d you know?" you ask, tilting your head in curiosity, attempting to ignore the way your pulse speeds up as his gaze meets yours.

He smirks, nodding toward the sparkly ‘birthday girl’ crown Winter forced you to wear earlier in the night. You let out a soft ‘ahh,’ feeling a little sheepish, before rattling off your friends’ orders, tacking on a drink for yourself.

He nods, grabbing bottles from the shelves behind him, and when he turns back, it’s like you’re seeing him for the first time again. His features—so sharp and beautiful—still take you off guard. Sharp yet soft in a way that doesn’t quite make sense, and his body moves with the kind of grace that seems too deliberate for someone just casually making drinks.

Then you notice the tattoo.

It snakes along his left forearm, lines of inky black running from his elbow to his wrist—straight, thin, mesmerizing in their simplicity. But as your eyes trace the design, you see how the lines break, shifting into jagged shapes, forming a waveform—Like little mountains extending in different shapes toward his elbow or the asymmetrical rise and fall of lines on a heart rate monitor. The longer you stare at it, the more the sight of it uproots memory deep in your mind. Music stores, underground record shops — this design was the cover of an album. 

Without thinking, the words spill from your lips. ���Unknown Pleasures.”

The bartender glances at his arm, like he’s forgotten it’s even there, pausing mid-pour. It’s not fresh but not faded either. Maybe not professionally done. It’s one of the coolest tattoos you’d ever laid your eyes on.

His brow quirks up in surprise, and he shoots you an impressed look. “You like Joy Division?”

“I know some of their stuff,” you say, leaning on the bar, the alcohol loosening your tongue. “But that album cover is iconic. Anyone who knows good music would recognize it.”

He hums, a low sound of approval, and resumes pouring. “You have taste.” His eyes flick up to meet yours, and there’s something magnetic in his gaze, like he’s trying to read between the lines of your casual small talk. “I’m Minho, by the way.”

His name rolls off his tongue like honey, and you can’t help but smile at the sound of it. God, everything about him is so effortlessly cool. "Nice to meet you, Minho," you reply, a smile overtaking your features.

Minho slides the drinks across the bar, but instead of stepping away, he leans against the counter, his forearms resting on top. It makes the muscles in his arms stand out even more, and you have to consciously avoid staring for too long. “...And you are?” His voice is even softer now, laced with something playful.

"Ah, but I like ‘Birthday Girl,’" you tease, your heart fluttering as you hold his gaze.

Minho chuckles, tilting his head, and a few strands of his dark hair fall over his brow, catching in the light. “Gotcha.” He flashes a grin before raising his brow in mock seriousness. “So, birthday girl, are you a diehard rock loyalist?”

You laugh, the sound a bit breathless. "I like it well enough, but I wouldn’t call myself a ‘diehard.’ Not any more than you, Mr. Joy Division." You gesture toward his tattoo again, earning another one of those perfect, disarming laughs from him.

“Right, right.” He nods, setting the tequila bottle down on the bar. 

Minho’s grin lingers, and for a moment, there’s only the soft hum of music in the background and the clinking of glasses at the busy bar. “Joy Division’s a bit of a gateway,” he admits, tapping a finger on the counter like he’s keeping the tempo of the conversation with an imaginary beat. “People always get stuck on the ‘Unknown Pleasures’ cover, but if you really listen, you feel something raw. It’s dark, but it’s honest, you know?”

You nod, feeling the weight of his words. "Yeah, it's like they put all the messy parts of life into their music. There's a beauty in it, though, in the way it’s all laid with intensity."

Minho’s eyes spark with something unspoken, and he leans in a little closer. "That’s the thing with rock. It’s not just music; it’s an attitude, a way of seeing the world. Joy Division, Bowie, The Clash… they all seem to dig into something real."

The conversation feels intimate now, like you’re peeling back layers of the noise around you and finding something genuine. “So, what’s your go-to?” you ask, curious to see where his mind wanders next.

He hesitates, the playfulness dropping for a beat as he considers the question. “Right now? Velvet Underground, especially their early stuff. There’s this raw edge to it, like they weren’t trying to make everyone happy. They just... were.”

You smile at that. “That explains the tattoo then. You’ve got a thing for the underappreciated, the overlooked.”

Minho tilts his head, that grin returning with a soft edge. “Maybe I do. Maybe I just like what sticks with me long after the song’s over.”

You feel your heartbeat quicken. There’s something about him—the tattoo, the casual confidence, the way he talks about music like it’s tied to his soul. It’s intoxicating, and you’re not sure if it’s the tequila or him making your head spin.

He leans in impossibly closer, the sudden traces of what had to be his cologne; sea, musk, sandalwood overtaking your senses. “Ever been to a live show?"

“Does watching my friends drunkenly butcher ‘Bikini Kill’ in karaoke count?” you tease, sucking in your bottom lip for a second. Minho's eyes briefly flick down to catch the movement, his smirk deepening.

“I was thinking something a bit... louder.” His gaze holds yours for a beat too long, and he shifts slightly, reaching beneath the counter for a shot glass. “There’s a show tonight at 10. Over at the venue on Cedar, few blocks from here. You know it?”

You nod, the name sparking recognition. “The place by the Seven Eleven?”

“That’s the one. I’m off at nine, was thinking of going.” His eyes gleam in the low light as he shifts his weight, gaze momentarily flickering behind you. “You should stop by. Bring your friends, if you want.”

You glance back at your table, where your friends are obviously watching your interaction with the hottest bartender on earth, their heads darting down the moment you catch their eyes. With a soft laugh, you turn back to him, the pull of his offer heavy in the air. “I’ll think about it, bar man.”

His smile widens, a flicker of something mischievous dancing in his eyes. "I’ll take that as a yes."

Before you can reply, a group at the end of the bar calls for another round, and Minho gives you a look that feels like the end of something and the beginning of something else. He steps away with a “duty calls”, but not before placing a shot of tequila in front of you.

You arch an eyebrow, already shaking your head as the glass catches the low light, amber liquid gleaming beneath the bar’s glow. “I didn’t order this.”

His smirk widens, slow and deliberate, like he’s holding onto some small, secret amusement. “It’s on the house. It is your birthday, after all.”

He turns to go, but pauses just long enough to toss a final parting line over his shoulder, his voice a little softer, almost teasing. “See you at the show.”

────୨ৎ────

comment to get notified for pt. II !!

ty for reading, more soon to come... prepare yourselves for hot ass rockstar lino. yummy.

🦋

[ohmynabiii]

𝐬𝐤𝐳 𝐚𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐜/𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐪𝐮𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 ☆♪

(hyung line)

let me know if you guys want the maknae line !!

🦋

[ohmynabiii]

𝐌𝐮𝐬𝐞 ; 𝐡𝐲𝐮𝐧𝐣𝐢𝐧 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐈𝐈

In the quiet intimacy of a shared art studio, two artists navigate the delicate balance between creative passion and unspoken desire, their bond deepening in the shadows of late-night work sessions. When the lights flicker off one evening, the darkness reveals feelings that neither can easily ignore, leaving them both wondering what will come to light when the power returns.

𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫 !! : this is PART TWO of an incomplete series. series should be read in order. but please revisit after part one!! this part is the best :)

link to part one !!

part three - unreleased

part four - unreleased

𝐜𝐰 : none, all ages are welcome to read :)

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 : slow-burn, artist au, student au, fluff, romance

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 3.1k

────୨ৎ────

A week has drifted by since that night, the days dissolving into a haze of sculpting, studying, and long hours in the studio. Time has become a blur—hours blending seamlessly into each other, punctuated by the occasional exchange between you and Hyunjin. Most of it is practical, a brief critique or a casual comment as both of you bury yourselves in your work, racing against the exhibit deadline. The drawing he made of you remains unspoken, a quiet secret between you two. Still, you’ve pinned it beside your desk like a silent reminder to breathe, to find moments of calm when the weight of your looming deadline presses too heavily.

But tonight, the air feels different. The pressure that weighed you down for days seems to have lifted, replaced by an uncharacteristic lightness. The studio, usually quiet and filled only with the sound of brushes against canvas or clay beneath your fingers, hums with the sound of conversation between you and Hyunjin. Laughter spills through the air, mingling with the gentle tap of brushes and the soft rhythm of hands shaping clay. There’s a palpable sense of relief, of anticipation—it’s as if the finish line is finally in sight, and with it comes a shared sense of celebration. 

You glance up from your work, catching sight of Hyunjin across the room accidentally smearing a streak of paint across his cheek, totally oblivious. A laugh bubbles up from your chest, unbidden and full of warmth.

"Hyunjin," you call, amusement thick in your voice. "You’ve got a little something there."

He pauses mid-stroke, turning to face you and swiping at the wrong side of his face with the back of his hand, further smearing the paint. “Here?” he asks, grinning as he makes it worse, the streak now extending across his jaw.

You shake your head, trying and failing to stifle your laughter. "No, now it's worse!" You can’t help but giggle, your cheeks aching from the joy that’s bubbled up between you all evening. 

Hyunjin looks at you with mock seriousness, striking a ridiculous pose. “Artist’s choice,” he declares, raising his hand dramatically. “It’s performance art.”

You snort, rolling your eyes as you try to refocus on your sculpture. “Yeah, sure,” you mutter, but your smile remains, lingering even as the laughter fades into the hum of the room.

Just as the energy begins to settle, there’s a sudden, eerie low hum—a sharp click—and then, without warning, the studio is plunged into darkness. The lights and the faint buzz of machinery disappear, leaving the space in near-total blackness. Your breath catches as your eyes slowly adjust, drawn to the weak glow of the emergency light flickering above the door.

“Whoa,” Hyunjin murmurs, his voice breaking the silence. There’s something different in his tone now—like playful cautiousness. “That’s... ominous.”

You glance around, taking in the shadows that loom in the corners of the studio, your familiar workspace suddenly feeling strange and unfamiliar. “Is this part of your ‘performance art’?” you quip, hoping to lighten the tension with a grin.

Hyunjin chuckles, the sound echoing softly in the dim light. “Oh, totally. I’m calling it ‘The Art of Panic: A Study in Darkness and Deadlines.’"

You chuckle, rolling your eyes. “Very avant-garde. I’m sure the critics will love it.”

He grins, setting down his brush and wiping his hands on his paint-splattered jeans. “I can already hear the reviews: ‘A profound exploration of creative breakdowns under pressure.’”

You both laugh, but the darkness adds a new layer to the moment, the weight of the room pressing in around you. You squint toward the fuse box at the far end of the room, a shadowy shape against the wall. “Think we blew a fuse?” You ask, squinting into the dim studio as you start toward the metal box. Hyunjin follows close behind, his slippered footsteps soft on the concrete floor.

“Maybe,” he replies, his voice carrying a playful lilt. “Or it’s a sign from the art gods telling us to take a break for once.”

A soft chuckle escapes your lips, but your pulse quickens in the stillness, the darkness adding an odd sense of intimacy to the room. “Maybe they’re right... but we’re so close.”

“True,” Hyunjin murmurs, his voice lower now, softer. You can feel him just behind you, his presence a comforting weight in the dark. “But I don’t think we’ll get much done when we can’t see anything.”

As you step forward, your foot catches on a used paint rag, and you stumble. Before you can fully catch yourself, Hyunjin’s there—only instead of smoothly pulling you upright, his hands fumble, knocking into your shoulder before sliding awkwardly down to your waist. He stumbles a little himself, trying to steady you both, nearly tripping on his own feet in the process.

“Whoa—wait—okay, I got you,” he mutters, laughing nervously as he barely manages to hold you upright, though not without a bit of flailing. His grip is clumsy, but somehow, he keeps you from falling entirely, his hands still resting on you, a little too long.

You’re breathless, half from the stumble, half from how close you are. “Thanks,” you say, though a small laugh slips out with the word.

Hyunjin scratches the back of his neck, clearly flustered. "Yeah, no problem. Good thing I’m so... coordinated." His sheepish smile is barely visible in the dim light, but you can see the flush of color creeping up his cheeks. The moment stretches, and for a brief second, the world around you seems to disappear, leaving just the two of you in the stillness. The air is thick with anticipation, every heartbeat echoing in the silence.

But Hyunjin sharply and suddenly pulls his hands away from your hips, nearly dropping you in the process. “Oh—sorry!” he stammers, his face turning red as he stumbles backward, putting a little too much distance between you. Realizing just how close you were, he rushes toward the fuse box with a nervous clearing of his throat. "Uh, let’s see..." he mumbles, awkwardly feeling along the wall until his fingers find cold metal.

You stand behind him, arms crossed, watching with a mix of amusement and curiosity. “You sure you know what you're doing, Mr. Electrician?” you tease lightly, biting back a smile as you hear him fumble with a few switches.

"Oh, Absolutely not," he replies with a huff, flicking a few switches. You both pause. No light. He turns around, shrugging with a helpless grin. “Well, I tried.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Darkness it is.”

With the power still out and no clear solution, the two of you make your way toward the couch, the faint glow of the emergency light barely cutting through the shadows. You both opt to sit on the floor, leaning back against the couch since the low light illuminates the floor a little better. It feels more intimate, closer than you’d normally sit. You’re shoulder to shoulder, your knees almost touching, and you can easily see the faint curve of his smile, the soft glow casting gentle shadows over his face. 

"Well, this is cozy," he jokes, shifting slightly but making no effort to move further away. You nod, your voice softer now. "Yeah, not so bad... Could be worse."

Hyunjin grins, his eyes flicking to yours in the dim light. "At least we’re not alone in here. I’d be totally freaking out.” 

You smile, your voice lowering as the weight of the quiet settles around you both. "I think the dark makes it kind of peaceful, actually."

For a moment, you both fall silent. The air between you feels thicker, heavier—charged with something that’s been lingering for weeks but hasn’t quite surfaced. It’s strange how the darkness makes everything feel closer, more vulnerable. You glance at him, noticing how the light catches the thoughtful expression on his face as if he’s about to say something but is holding back. You can faintly see the paint smeared across his cheek.

“So,” you begin, your voice quiet as you shift a little closer, “What now? We just sit here in the dark until the power magically comes back?”

He chuckles softly, his gaze turning back to you. “Guess we could... or, we could just talk. About something other than art for once.”

You raise a brow. “That’s a dangerous idea. What else is there besides art?”

He laughs, but this time the sound is softer, more intimate. “I don’t know…” He pauses, his eyes brightening with a spark of mischief. Suddenly, he jumps and turns to face you fully, his expression serious yet playful. “How about this: We each take turns asking a personal question, and… we keep going until the power comes back on.”

You nod, amusement dancing in your eyes. “Mkay, deal.” You reach out and playfully shake hands, sealing the pact with a grin. “You start.”

"Okay, okay," Hyunjin says, rubbing his hands together, a playful glint in his eyes, but there’s something beneath it—anticipation, maybe. His fingers linger against his palms a little too long, his excitement almost palpable in the dim light. “What’s something you’ve always wanted to try but haven’t yet?”

You lean back against the surface of the couch, feeling the fabric against your skin, and take a moment to collect your thoughts. The soft glow of the emergency light casts shadows across his face, emphasizing the intensity of his gaze. “Hmm, that’s a good one… I’ve always wanted to try rock climbing.” The words spill out, and as you speak, you watch his expression sharpen, intrigued. “The idea of being up high, seeing everything from a different angle... It just seems thrilling.”

His nod is slow, thoughtful, and the silence stretches, heavy with the weight of your shared vulnerability. Hyunjin’s eyes never leave yours, as if he’s trying to decipher something deeper. “What about you, Hyunjin?” You hold your breath, feeling the intimacy of this exchange. 

��Um… I’ve always wanted to learn how to play the guitar,” he admits, as he looks away for just a second. “Music has this way of capturing emotions that I feel I could never express through painting alone.” 

The admission surprises you, tugging at something within. “Really?” Your heart quickens, the atmosphere between you thickening. “I can totally see you jamming out. I’d love to hear you play.”

Hyunjin’s cheeks flush, the dim light catching the shy smile that spreads across his face. He glances away, a flicker of self-consciousness crossing his features. “Maybe one day…” His voice trails off, and for a moment, the air hangs heavy with unspoken words. “Your turn.”

You draw in a deep breath, trying to shake off the flurry of emotions swirling inside. “Okay,” you reply, the weight of your next words pressing against your chest. “If you could travel anywhere in the world right now, where would you go and why?”

He leans back, but instead of creating distance, his body shifts closer, as if the dim light draws him nearer to you. “Japan,” he says, his tone lowering, almost reverent. “I’ve always wanted to see the cherry blossoms in spring and visit the art museums in Tokyo. The blend of tradition and modernity... It’s captivating. Plus, the food…”

Your smile falters for a moment, the image of him in a vibrant landscape filled with fragrant blooms filling your mind. “Now I’m hungry,” you laugh softly, trying to lighten the air but feeling the tightness in your throat. “If you ever get to go, you have to paint me some cherry blossoms.”

Hyunjin's smile widens, and there’s a newfound softness in his expression. “I’d paint you a whole garden,” he murmurs, his voice barely a whisper, the words hanging in the air like a fragile thread.

Your heart skips at the intimacy of the moment, a thrill coursing through you. The world around you fades, leaving just the two of you in this dimly lit cocoon. For a beat, neither of you speaks, the silence stretching long and thick with anticipation. The proximity feels electric, the soft glow illuminating the spaces between you, highlighting every detail—the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the way his gaze holds yours with an intensity that makes your breath catch.

“Okay, your turn again,” You finally say, words cutting through the shared silence.

The quiet hum of the studio fills the space between you, but the conversation flows effortlessly from one topic to another, weaving an intricate tapestry of shared thoughts and experiences. The dim light casts soft shadows that dance around you, creating an almost secretive atmosphere where every word feels like a treasured secret. Each shared story holds weight, drawing you both deeper into the moment as if the outside world has faded away. 

You find yourselves reminiscing about childhood dreams, the wild ambitions that once seemed so tangible, and the old fears that still tug at your hearts. Hyunjin leans forward, animated, as he recounts the story of the first painting he ever made. His eyes light up with mischief as he recalls how he accidentally spilled red paint everywhere, transforming the chaotic mess into something he boldly called art. His laughter is infectious, and you can’t help but imagine the scene—a young Hyunjin amidst a sea of crimson, blissfully unaware of the mess he was creating.

In return, you share your own tale, recalling a botched sculpture from high school that became a running joke among your classmates. “I swear, my art teacher insisted it was ‘deeply metaphorical,’” you chuckle, rolling your eyes at the memory. The absurdity of it all only adds to the warmth of the moment, and you both dissolve into laughter. As you exchange these stories, it feels as though you’re peeling back layers, revealing parts of yourselves that rarely see the light, creating a bond that feels both fragile and strong in the warm glow of the emergency light. 

“I think… I’m always afraid my work will never be enough,” you admit softly, in response to one of his questions, fingers absentmindedly tracing the fabric of your pants. “That no matter how much I put into it, there’s always something missing.”

Hyunjin listens, his head turned slightly toward you, his gaze steady and thoughtful. “I get that,” he murmurs. “I feel that way a lot too. Like there’s some invisible finish line, and I’m always behind it, no matter how fast I run.”

His words hang in the air, and you both sit with them, feeling the weight of shared insecurities. The room feels smaller, cozier, like it’s folding in around you two, pulling you closer.

“I think that’s why I paint,” he continues, his voice softer now, more vulnerable. “It’s the only time I can quiet the noise in my head. Like, it doesn’t matter if it’s perfect. It just is, you know?”

You nod, understanding him in a way that feels almost too intimate. “And I think that’s why I sculpt. It’s like I’m shaping something real out of all that mess in my mind.”

The air feels thicker, heavy with the weight of things unsaid, things that could change everything. Your heart beats a little faster, and you wonder if he feels it too—the quiet pull between you both.

You absentmindedly reach up, intending to finally wipe the paint smudged on Hyunjin’s cheek, your fingers hovering just above his skin. The soft warmth of his face draws you in, and you can’t help but lose yourself in his eyes, those deep pools reflecting the dim light and the secrets of the moment. It feels like time pauses, the world outside your bubble fading into nothingness. The connection between you crackles with electricity, an unspoken tension hanging in the air, making your heart race.

Time seems to stretch, allowing you to soak in every detail—the way his dark hair falls softly across his forehead, the way his breath quickens slightly as your hand lingers. You can feel the intensity of his gaze holding yours, the space between you charged with a gentle tension that feels both exhilarating and frightening. It’s an unspoken acknowledgment of the connection that has been slowly building over the past weeks, a connection that feels both familiar and new.

Your heart races, each heartbeat echoing in your ears as you inch closer, captivated by the softness of his expression. The laughter and playful banter of earlier has dissipated, replaced by a quiet vulnerability that envelops you both. It’s in moments like this that you see the artist in him, not just in his works but in the way he carries himself, the way he looks at you as if you’re the most gorgeous girl he’s ever seen.

Just as your fingertips are about to brush against his skin, the lights flicker back to life, flooding the studio with bright illumination and shattering the fragile spell that had settled around you. The moment shifts, the weight of your gaze dissipating into the vibrant colors of the room. You pull your hand back, a mix of surprise and warmth rushing through you, as both of you instinctively blink against the sudden brightness.

The comfortable intimacy of the darkness dissipates like morning fog, leaving behind an awkward silence that settles between you like an uninvited guest. You glance at Hyunjin, and for a brief moment, you see the surprise in his eyes—an echo of the warmth and connection that had thrived just moments before. The shadows that had cradled your secrets are gone, and the air now feels thick with unsaid words, as if the vulnerability of the previous conversation has been exposed to the harsh glare of reality. You can’t help but notice how the bright light casts stark shadows across his face, bringing everything into sharper focus—his features more defined, yet somehow more guarded.

“Wow, that’s… bright,” he says, his voice breaking the silence, a nervous chuckle escaping his lips as he glances around the studio, suddenly aware of how exposed you both feel. The light feels harsh compared to the intimate glow of the emergency lamp, and it reminds you both of the reality surrounding your late-night musings.

He clears his throat, “Well, uh… I guess we should get back to work,” he says, his voice faltering slightly. You nod, feeling an odd mixture of relief and disappointment wash over you. The moments you shared in the dark hang heavy in the air, each of you stealing glances at the other, the earlier ease of conversation eclipsed by an unspoken tension. 

You return to your piece, fingers pressing into the cool, pliable clay as you try to channel the warmth of your earlier conversation back into your work. The creative flow feels different now—more mechanical, less fluid—as you steal glances at Hyunjin, who is busily adjusting his canvas. The moment you shared clings to the edges of your thoughts, and while the lights have returned, the lingering connection remains like a soft echo, reminding you both of the vulnerability that had sparked between you in the darkness.

────୨ৎ────

𝐚𝐧 : hope you enjoyed!! please don't hesitate to share any feedback :)

thank you for reading!! more to come soon...

🦋

[ohmynabiii]

𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐮𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 !!

hello everyone, I'm nabi!! (she/they)

since I'm new to the tumblr writing world, I wanted to introduce myself.

────୨ৎ────

𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 : nabi 🦋

𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐝𝐚𝐲 : 2007.01.14 january baby :)

𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐨𝐝 : onigiri 🍙

𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 : autumn

𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐭𝐲 : writing, photography, studying, and cultural studies !!

𝐟𝐮𝐧 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐭 : I speak three languages, including japanese, korean, and english

𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐲 𝐤𝐢𝐝𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐟𝐟 : I've been a stay for 2 years and I'm an ot8 bias :)

𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐤𝐩𝐨𝐩 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐟𝐟 : I also love ateez, xdinary heroes, aespa, and wave to earth. And much much more.

────୨ৎ────

𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 :

🦋

────୨ৎ────

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 :

stray kids fics

𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 :

birthday girl ; lee know x f!reader

𝐦𝐲 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐚𝐠 :

ohmynabiii

[ohmynabiii]

🦋 𝐨𝐡𝐦𝐲𝐧𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐢𝐢 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 🦋

🦋 = fluff. 💙 = angst. 📱 = social media AU.

────୨ৎ────

𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 :

...

────୨ৎ────

𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 :

𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬

coming soon...

𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥-𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐡

coming soon...

𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬

Bang Chan As a Father of Two ; imagines, 1k words 🦋

romance, fluff, chan as a father of two imagines

────୨ৎ────

𝐥𝐞𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 :

𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬

Birthday Girl ; angsty fluffy stuff, ...k words 🦋

He leans in, impossibly closer, the sudden traces of what had to be his cologne; smoke, musk, sandalwood overtaking your senses. “Ever been to a live show?"

“Does watching my friends drunkenly butcher ‘Bikini Kill’ in karaoke count?” you tease, sucking in your bottom lip for a second. Minho's eyes briefly flick down to catch the movement, his smirk deepening.

“I was thinking something a bit... louder.”

romance, tension, rock/band au, aespa cameo, tatted and rockstar minho

𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥-𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐡

coming soon...

𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬

coming soon...

────୨ৎ────

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐛𝐢𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 :

𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬

coming soon...

𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥-𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐡

coming soon...

𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬

coming soon...

────୨ৎ────

𝐡𝐲𝐮𝐧𝐣𝐢𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 :

𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬

Muse ; multiple part series, fluff, artist/student au, 10k+ words 🦋

In the quiet intimacy of a shared art studio, two artists navigate the delicate balance between creative passion and unspoken desire, their bond deepening in the shadows of late-night work sessions. When the lights flicker off one evening, the darkness reveals feelings that neither can easily ignore, leaving them both wondering what will come to light when the power returns.

slow-burn, artist au, student au, fluff, romance.

𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥-𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐡

coming soon...

𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬

coming soon...

────୨ৎ────

𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐱 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 :

𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬

coming soon...

𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥-𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐡

coming soon...

𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬

coming soon...

────୨ৎ────

𝐬𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐦𝐢𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 :

𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬

coming soon...

𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥-𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐡

Flashes Of You ; one-shot, fluff, 1.6k words 🦋

“It’s always in these quiet moments, just after sunset, when the world is painted in soft twilight, that you feel most at ease beside Kim Seungmin."

romance, sweet fluff, first kiss, inexperienced

𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬

coming soon...

────୨ৎ────

𝐣𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 :

𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬

coming soon...

𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥-𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐡

coming soon...

𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬

coming soon...

────୨ৎ────

𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐜

skz as poetic/romantic quotes ; hyung line 🦋

collection of channie hugs

channie rant ; workaholic/perfectionist talk

🦋

[ohmynabiii]

𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐲𝐬 !!

help a writer out, I'm curious what you all prefer...