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This Little Light Of Mine

Dare to Be Mine

She hadn’t expected to be cornered like this, not here, not now. His tall frame loomed over her, blocking any escape as he stood inches from her, pinning her to the wall with his presence alone. His hand rested just above her head, his fingers brushing the cool surface of the locker, creating a barrier that trapped her in place. Her breath caught, her heart thundering in her chest as she realized how little space was left between them. His eyes were dark, full of something she couldn’t decipher but desperately wanted to understand. He stared at her, not saying anything at first, just letting the silence stretch between them. She could feel her pulse race, her face flushing, her body frozen, even though she wanted to push him away. “What are you going to do about it?” he asked, his voice smooth, teasing, and filled with a challenge. There was something in the way he spoke, something that made her stomach twist with a mixture of confusion and excitement. She opened her mouth to say something—anything—but the words wouldn’t come. Her hands hung at her sides, unsure whether to push against his chest or hold herself back. She couldn’t tell if she wanted him to step closer or if she just wanted to run far away from the intensity that radiated from him. “Stop…” she murmured, but the word felt too weak, too powerless against the gravity pulling them together. “What do you want from me?” His lips curled into a small, almost predatory smile. “I want you to stop pretending you don’t feel it,” he said softly, his gaze never leaving hers. His closeness was suffocating, but in the most intoxicating way. The tension between them was palpable, like a storm ready to break. She could feel the heat of his body against hers, could hear the steady rhythm of his breathing as if they were the only two people in the world. She wanted to fight back, wanted to be strong and resist, but something in her—something deep inside—kept her rooted to the spot. He was her classmate, the guy everyone knew, the one with that effortless confidence that made all the girls swoon. And now here he was, making her feel things she wasn’t sure how to deal with. Her hands trembled, caught between pushing him away and giving in to the wild, dizzying pull she felt toward him. She was terrified, but there was also a spark of curiosity, of something she couldn’t quite control. “I’m not… ready for this,” she whispered, though her voice shook with uncertainty. “I don’t even know what you’re doing.” He didn’t answer right away, his gaze softening just enough to let her know that he was listening, that he wasn’t in a rush. He leaned in slightly, his breath brushing against her cheek. “I think you do,” he murmured. “You just don’t want to admit it yet.” Amidst the whirlwind of school friendships, and the pressure. Can anyone dare to be open to the possibility with someone who seems so unreachable?
Nero_Zone · 4.1K Views

Little Light Lord

[An Announcement from the Author: LLL will undergo major reformations! Expect a reboot of this confusing storyline sometime early January! Thank you for all of your support thus far.] Gods rule over the fundamental creations of life. Lords watch and rule over these Gods’ creations. Phos, the Lord of Light, found himself cornered by a sharpshooter in the dead of the night. This unlikely encounter led to destiny. — The marksman needed to kill a kind, beautiful man. From the photos, his target had crystalline orange eyes and glowing silver hair that cascaded down to the floor in waves. But, as with everything, the real man looked far more lucent and stunning. Like a soft light, like the first glimmer on the ocean’s surface as the Sun arose. Before he could raise his sniper’s rifle to extinguish this ray of light, however, the beautiful target pulled out a pistol and shot him straight in the abdomen. “I hope you don’t die. Good day.” With that, he swiftly turned and left, disappearing into the darkness, his long hair bouncing to his every crisp footstep. Leaving behind the confused marksman, who, dazed, clutched his new wound and slumped to the floor. Later on, the marksman managed to act stupid enough to gain his target’s trust. Showing his true colours, he toyed with a lock of his former victim’s hair, which was as silky and soft as he imagined. He held it to his lips, raised a corner of his black turtleneck to show the bulletwound on his abdomen, and whispered in a deep voice: “This wound, how will you repay it?” The original target, who shined like a dim candlelight under the rays of the moon, stretched up his bound arms to the hitman, brought a gentle hand to his skin, covered the wound… and with an unapologetic, professional business smile, he replied: “I’m sorry, are you really sure you have a scar there? How come I don’t see anything?” The marksman: … It’s because you’re covering it. The man he originally had to kill, who wore white silk pyjamas and a flame-like orange scarf every day and who looked like he could fall over with a slight push from the wind, was actually very resistant—and really, really pissed him off. Cover Art: nonsang_08 Upload Schedule: Every 3 days
E_S_Sonnomett · 19K Views
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