──── *ੈ♡⸝⸝ THROUGH MY EYES ( Newjeans )

thank you so much again for responding so quickly to me, and just being a really cool person!! i agree, it’s so cool that we have this much in common. it’s nice to bond over it all with someone🥰

also i’m sorry if my responses seem kinda short and blunt, i just got a lot in my brain right now😅 i promise it has nothing to do with you, just life stress

- 🍀

Of course! I genuinely do like talking with you, you’re also a very cool person and I really like your vibe 🥺

Hey, it’s totally okay! I really understand, and if you need someone to unload with, you know where to find me. I’m here if you need me <3

🎇 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒 ( stray kids )

❛ You and your lover, Changbin, explore the depths of your relationship through an intimate art session, where Changbin’s skin becomes your canvas for emotional expression.

𝐬𝐞𝐨 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐛𝐢𝐧 + g. neutral reader ೯ ( 𝐨𝐧𝐞-𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 ) 2.8k

꒰ 💌 ꒱ ミ This piece was requested a while ago by my beloved mootie, Merin! It was such a sweet prompt, honestly, and I am really happy with how it came out. Requests are currently open! I hope you guys enjoy, reblogs and feedback are much appreciated! ── ( 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 )

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: MDNI, Established relationship, Y/N is afraid of initiating any kind of intimacy, I would consider this to be vague smut — maybe it should be labeled as suggestive? Probably not actually, romantic sex, making a mess with wet paint during sex, descriptions of anxiety, let me know if I missed anything!

( 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 ) ( 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 & 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ) ( 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 )

꒰ 🫙 ꒱ ミ Tip Jar!

“You have to turn around or I won’t do it,” you huff with feigned annoyance, a thin veil over your mounting anxiety. The words come out sharper than intended, a desperate attempt to mask the tremor in your voice. Changbin pouts, his lower lip jutting out in a way that’s both endearing and maddening, but he complies, turning his back to you. The playful pout is a façade, a small rebellion against the uncertainty that lingers in the air between you.

He had asked you to use him as a canvas, an unusual request that was meant to surprise and unsettle you. The idea was simple in theory but fraught with emotional complexity. During your free time, painting was your solace, a means to escape into a world where you could create beauty out of nothing. You were accustomed to painting on your own skin, using it as a blank slate for your artistic expression. But this situation was different. Changbin, your lover, was not just a body; he was a living, breathing embodiment of your deepest feelings and insecurities. His presence was electric, a constant reminder of the power he wielded over you with the slightest glance or touch.

The mere thought of painting Changbin was both thrilling and terrifying. His skin, normally the subject of your artistic fantasies, now became the canvas upon which your emotions would be laid bare. Each brushstroke would be an intimate declaration, a blend of color and sensation that went beyond mere artistry. The stakes felt incredibly high, and the vulnerability you felt was almost overwhelming. It wasn't just about the painting; it was about the raw, unspoken exchange of trust and affection that came with it. As you prepared your paints and brushes, the flutter in your chest spoke louder than words, a testament to the profound impact Changbin had on your life.

Eventually, all of your painting supplies were meticulously arranged, a testament to your preparation and anticipation. The array of colors and brushes, each placed with care, awaits the moment when they will come to life. Despite Changbin’s back being turned to you, despite the full control you have over this artistic endeavor, and despite the gentle, tender nature that defines him, an inescapable fear grips you tightly. It’s a fear that seems to rise with each breath you take, a curse that has followed you through the months of your relationship, even after four years of friendship.

You still find it nearly impossible to initiate any form of intimacy, a struggle that feels like a heavy weight on your heart. Changbin, ever perceptive and understanding, is acutely aware of your struggle. You can't help but wonder if this request to be your canvas was his way of gently nudging you past your barriers, a subtle invitation to confront your fears. The sight of his toned, bare back, illuminated by the golden sunlight streaming through your windows, is almost too breathtaking to bear. The natural light caresses his skin, highlighting the contours and making him look like a living masterpiece.

You reach for the paintbrush with a hesitant hand, your fingers trembling despite your best efforts to steady them. Each brushstroke will be a step toward bridging the gap between your fears and your desires. The internal turmoil roiling within you feels almost insurmountable, yet Changbin remains a pillar of patience and quiet support. His silence is filled with anticipation, a silent encouragement that heightens the intensity of the moment. As you begin, his breath hitches, a subtle reminder of the vulnerability and trust that this act of painting symbolizes.

“Don’t think, love,” Changbin murmurs softly, his voice a gentle whisper that seems to float in the space between you. There is a delicate fear in his tone, as if the very act of raising his voice might shatter the fragile bubble of intimacy you both are nestled within. His words are meant to soothe, to gently guide you through the swirling maelstrom of anxiety that threatens to engulf you. “Let your hand decide what to do first, like it does with every other painting.”

His encouragement is tender, a quiet plea for you to relinquish the hold of overthinking and simply trust in your own instincts. The way he addresses you, with such care and understanding, reveals his deep awareness of your inner struggle. The idea of allowing your hand to move freely, unburdened by conscious thought, is both comforting and daunting. It’s a call to embrace the organic flow of creativity, to let your artistic instincts take the lead just as they do with every other canvas.

In his gentle insistence, there is an underlying promise of safety and acceptance, a reassurance that you are not alone in this moment. His soft voice, laden with affection, is a beacon that guides you through your hesitation, offering a pathway to overcome the fear that clutches at your heart. As you absorb his words, you feel a shift within, a subtle easing of the tension as you prepare to let your hands move with the grace and freedom that Changbin so patiently encourages.

You exhale shakily, a soft, uneven breath escaping your lips as you close your eyes for a fleeting moment. The brief respite is a small sanctuary from the storm of emotions raging within you. With a deep, albeit hesitant, breath, you allow the brush to make its tentative contact with his back. The sensation is both thrilling and disconcerting, a tangible reminder of the intimacy you’re trying to navigate.

Your heart pounds erratically, lodged firmly in your throat, as if each beat is a protest against the simplicity of the act. The sensation of the brush against his skin is strangely overwhelming, and you can’t help but feel a touch of absurdity at the intensity of your reaction. The thought strikes you with a sting: why should something so seemingly simple provoke such a profound response?

You frown at the self-criticism, a mix of frustration and self-doubt clouding your thoughts. The very act that should be a natural extension of your creativity now feels like an insurmountable barrier. You remain frozen in place, the brush hovering delicately against his back, your mind tangled in a web of conflicting emotions and the weight of your own insecurities.

“First contact, good,” Changbin says softly, his voice filled with genuine warmth and encouragement. His praise, though directed at the simplest of actions, carries a weight of sincerity that pierces through your anxieties. The way he acknowledges your effort with such kindness and appreciation makes your heart swell with a mix of emotions.

Each word of praise from him feels like a tender caress, a soothing balm to your frayed nerves. It’s as if his approval alone has the power to lift the heaviness from your shoulders. Yet, amidst the comfort of his support, a pang of sorrow tugs at your heart. You can’t help but feel that Changbin, with his unwavering patience and boundless kindness, is deserving of so much more than you can offer.

The realization settles heavily within you: he is too good, too pure, and his affection for you only highlights the depth of your own insecurities. The disparity between his gentle, unselfish nature and your own self-doubt feels almost unbearable. As you grapple with the bittersweet ache of his praise, the profound sense of his worth and the feeling of inadequacy intertwine, leaving you with a lingering ache for him and the love you fear you might not fully deserve.

“I can’t do this,” you sniff, your voice trembling as you pull the brush away from his back. The words are more a cry of frustration than a simple admission of difficulty. Your hands feel unsteady, and the weight of your own insecurities feels almost too much to bear in this moment of vulnerability.

Changbin remains motionless, his presence a steady, reassuring anchor in the midst of your turmoil. Despite your agitation, he does not waver. His voice cuts through your self-doubt with a calm and unwavering reassurance. “You did good, love, you made the first contact — now keep going.”

His encouragement is gentle, yet insistent, a soft nudge to continue despite the internal resistance that threatens to pull you away. The words carry an undercurrent of faith and support, a reminder that progress has been made and that there is a path forward. Changbin’s steadiness provides a counterbalance to the storm of emotions within you, his calm demeanor a beacon of hope as you grapple with the feeling of inadequacy. His trust in your abilities and his unwavering patience offer a precious glimmer of confidence, urging you to overcome the hesitation and embrace the next step.

You found yourself caught between two conflicting desires: the longing to touch him, to feel the warmth and softness of his skin beneath your fingertips, and the impulse to abandon the entire exercise in a wave of self-doubt. It was a precarious balance, and every moment felt fraught with the tension of your inner struggle. Yet, it was Changbin’s gentle, affirming praise that kept you tethered, a constant reassurance that dispelled the doubts threatening to hold you back. His words, tender and encouraging, provided a steady anchor amidst the churning sea of your uncertainties.

Changbin’s beauty, so striking and profound, seemed almost overwhelming in its intensity. The sight of him, so effortlessly captivating, made it difficult to process your own emotions. The paintbrush in your hand danced across his back with a new fervor, as if guided by an unseen force. The vibrant hues of oranges and yellows spilled across his skin, transforming his usually plain canvas into a vibrant display of color and emotion. The image you painted was a burst of fireworks, a visual symphony meant to capture the depth of the feelings he stirred within you.

Occasionally, your free hand would find its way to his back, a tentative gesture that spoke volumes more than words could. It was a gesture of closeness and reassurance, a small but significant effort to bridge the gap between your hesitations and his unwavering support. Each touch was a deliberate step towards overcoming your fears for his sake. As you put the final touches on the painting, a sense of accomplishment washed over you. The work, now complete, was a testament to the emotions Changbin had evoked and a reflection of the journey you had navigated together.

After admiring and praising your work through the bathroom mirror, Changbin returned to kneel before you, a look of dazed contentment lingering in his eyes. The intimate moment you’d shared while painting him had left an imprint on him, and it was evident in the softened, reverent way he now regarded you. His voice, barely more than a murmur, was tinged with a gentle, almost reverential tone as he took your hands in his and requested you to touch his face.

The intensity of his gaze was nearly too much to bear, a silent plea that seemed to pierce through your defenses. You almost refused, the weight of his unspoken emotions making it difficult to act. In a bid to soften the moment and manage your own trepidation, you asked him to close his eyes. His response was immediate and graceful, a serene smile playing at the corners of his lips as he complied with your request.

Your hands trembled slightly as you lifted them to cup his face, the act both intimate and nerve-wracking. The contact was met with an immediate reaction — a shiver that coursed through his body, a physical manifestation of the deep emotional connection that had been kindled between you. The sensation of his warm skin under your trembling fingers was both grounding and electrifying, a testament to the vulnerability and trust that had been shared in this quiet, tender moment.

The shoulders were your next focus, and your fingertips traced their contours with a delicate touch, as light as a feather. Each movement was deliberate, a gentle exploration that sent ripples of sensation across Changbin's skin. You watched intently as goosebumps emerged, spreading across his body in response to your touch. Despite the palpable reaction, his eyes remained closed, a gesture of trust that deepened the intimacy of the moment.

Changbin's hands rested calmly on his knees as he continued to kneel before you, his posture a silent testament to his patience and willingness. He didn’t shift or flinch, his stillness adding to the weight of the moment. It was an experience that was both terrifying and exhilarating, a profound blend of emotions that left you on edge and in awe.

As you allowed your hands to move freely, a newfound sense of power and connection emerged. You ventured across his chest, tracing the ridges of his biceps and the smooth planes of his belly. Each touch was a discovery, a chance to map the landscape of his body and to feel the subtle changes in his breathing and muscle tension. The freedom to explore his skin, to feel the warmth and texture under your hands, was both a privilege and a revelation, marking a deepening of the bond you shared.

Eventually, a surge of bravery propelled you forward, and you allowed your lips to gently meet his. The contact was electric, an immediate and fervent exchange as he responded to your kiss with equal passion. Changbin sighed contentedly into your mouth, his lips moving with a depth and intensity that mirrored the emotions swirling between you. You surrendered to the warmth and connection of the moment, letting him lead the kiss as you immerse yourself in the shared intimacy.

As the kiss deepened, the atmosphere shifted, and soon the two of you found yourselves on the ground. The transition was both spontaneous and fluid, a natural progression of the intimate exchange that had begun with your kiss. In the heat of the moment, your hands, which had once traced delicate patterns on his back, now inadvertently smeared the artwork you had so carefully created. The paint, which had once been a canvas of emotions, was now spread across both your bodies.

Your hands roamed freely, exploring every inch of his skin, while he moved with a rhythm that was both euphoric and synchronistic. The paint became an unwitting participant in your passion, staining your bodies as you both lost yourselves in the ecstasy of the experience. The ground beneath you was forgotten, replaced by the intense connection and shared vulnerability that defined the moment.

His rhythmic movements were a symphony of whispered confessions of love, each tender murmur sending your mind drifting away on a cloud of pure pleasure. The combination of his words and actions created an overwhelming yet exhilarating sensation that filled every corner of your consciousness. Each whisper was a thread weaving into the fabric of your shared ecstasy, intensifying the connection between you.

The melodies of your intertwined breaths and muted moans became the only sounds that reverberated through your apartment, a private concert of intimacy and passion. The room was enveloped in the hushed symphony of your bodies moving together, a melody of love and desire that seemed to echo off the walls.

A thin layer of sweat formed a glistening sheen on both of your skins, the evidence of your fervent connection. The last rays of the setting sun cast a warm, fading light that mingled with the dimming hues of night, creating a soft glow that highlighted the tender vulnerability of the moment. As the daylight surrendered to the encroaching darkness, the scene became a portrait of intimate beauty, a snapshot of a night filled with profound emotional and physical connection.

It was no surprise when you both reached the pinnacle of your shared experience simultaneously. The strained, almost primal sounds that escaped you both were a testament to the overwhelming, all-consuming pleasure that enveloped you. The intensity of the moment was almost too much to bear, a crescendo of sensation and emotion that left you breathless.

Amidst the euphoria, the purity of the love you had just shared became palpable, stirring emotions so deep that tears began to roll down your cheeks. Each tear was a manifestation of the profound connection and overwhelming affection you felt for him. Your heart ached with a fierce love, and you found yourself wanting to express it with every fiber of your being.

He responded to your silent confession with words of his own, his voice tender and filled with sincerity. As he kissed away each tear that stained your cheeks, his eyes held a softness that you had never seen before, a gentle radiance that spoke of the depth of his feelings. A tender smile curved at his lips, amplifying the beauty of the moment. His presence was nothing short of devastatingly beautiful, and in that intimate, vulnerable space, you felt a profound sense of gratitude and disbelief at your fortune. To have a lover so deeply attuned to you, so wonderfully perfect in your eyes, was a gift you could scarcely believe you had received.

꒰ 🏷️ ꒱ ミ Permanent taglist: @agi-ppangx @sunnyrisee @jisunglyricist (Click on the link to join! All you have to do is answer a few questions to help me stay organized!)

🍉 FROM THE RIVER TO THE SEA, PALESTINE WILL BE FREE! DAILY CLICKS! STAYBLR FUNDRAISER!

i love shy soft minho so much it’s honestly ridiculous 😭 thank you so much for enjoying and supporting me like always merin ilysm!!!

hi green !! i’ve been a quiet enjoyer of your works and i finally grew the courage to make a request i hope that’s okay !!

what would puppy love with lee know look like ? if it’s with a male reader, that would be great ! thank you !

PUPPY LOVE— lee minho

스트레이 키즈 ( 리노 ) x male reader genre. fluff warnings. it's gay, the gays get in trouble at school therefore minho gets in trouble at home, gay, more gay, they're in high school and in love and it's them against the world, also it’s mostly written from minho’s pov rating. everyone word count. 1.0k summary. in which high school lee minho is so madly in love with you that he's willing to follow you anywhere, anytime.

# other works by green # kofi # free palestine # palestine stayblr fundraiser

Puppy-Love-Minho who would wake up before the sun was even up so he could be the first to see you when you arrived at school, falling asleep on his desk while he waited. He would always look away sheepishly when he would wake up to find you watching him with twinkling eyes, laughing lightly. 

Puppy-Love-Minho who would follow you into the faculty break room with his heart beating in his throat while you rummaged around to see if you could find anything of interest. He would’ve never done something that could earn him a scolding, though because you suggested it, he agreed to be the lookout while simultaneously swooning at the goofy smirk you wore while you found love notes from teachers by the coffee machine. 

Puppy-Love-Minho who, in the terrifying realization that the well-known strict math teacher was making her way into the faculty break room, grabbed you by the wrist without a word before bolting out of the room while you stumbled and tripped behind him. The shouting from your teacher being drowned out by the crazed giggles coming out of both of your mouths as you continued to run as fast as you possibly could while trying not to fixate too much on the fact that he was still holding your wrist. 

Puppy-Love-Minho who would pull you into one of the stalls of the boys’ bathroom to finally rest from running, having you stand on the toilet together though still huddled — your legs becoming a tangled mess as you both panted and laughed breathlessly, trying to calm the loud drums of your hearts. It was a matter of seconds before you both really noticed how close together your faces were, your lips a hair’s width away from touching his. 

Puppy-Love-Minho who would turn away shyly, hoping to whatever gods existed that you couldn’t hear the way his heart beat erratically at such a scene. His ears burned red as the blood crept up and pooled into his cheeks all the while his hands trembled. 

Puppy-Love-Minho who almost passed out when the principal of your school suddenly opens the bathroom stall in which you’d both hidden in, his face contorted in anger as he pointed his finger towards the exit. Although Minho could only imagine the amount of trouble he’ll find himself in at home, he couldn’t help but be guilt-free at the sight of your amused grin that made you look as though you thought this whole ordeal was funny. 

Puppy-Love-Minho who received the scolding of his life the second he stepped foot inside of his home, very much as he’d predicted, and got sent to his room without the privilege of leaving unless it was to use the bathroom. Even still, he replayed the morning’s events in his head with a lovesick smile on his face. 

Puppy-Love-Minho who almost yells out when he hears a rock hit his bedroom window, finding you standing down in his backyard with a stupid grin on your face when he finally grows the courage to peer outside. His heart doing somersaults in his chest at the sight, at the thought of his parents finding you standing there as well — at the thrill of it all.  

Puppy-Love-Minho who can almost envision his own funeral as he manages to sneak past his parents’ bedroom to meet you outside, body tensed as he prays once again that nothing goes wrong. He can only breathe once you both make it outside the property, walking down the neighborhood — only then did he finally ask you what the hell you thought you were doing. 

Puppy-Love-Minho who huffs as you laugh at his anxiety, shoving you lightly though he had to look away to hide the smile that threatened to slip up. He listens intently as you apologize sincerely for getting him in trouble, and feels as though he might pass out as you pull out a kitty keychain out of your pocket and offer it to him. 

Puppy-Love-Minho who forgets to breathe when you step forward as you hand him his gift, keeping your eyes on his as you do so. Although he panicked at the thought of anyone in his neighborhood seeing him kiss another boy, he couldn’t pull away for the small hope that you would press your lips against his. 

Puppy-Love-Minho whose breath absolutely leaves him when he notices you slowly leaning in, your eyes on his trembling lips.

Puppy-Love-Minho who sees your short hesitation as you look up into his eyes, trying to read him, and closes the small gap between your lips in a small burst of adrenaline. 

Puppy-Love-Minho who could almost hear imaginary fireworks exploding in the background as his blood pumped through his veins at record speed. His hands find your waist so that he could pull himself closer to you in order to deepen the kiss, feeling himself becoming bolder by the second. 

Puppy-Love-Minho who feels your teeth against his lips as you laugh softly, somehow triggering shame to creep up as the weight of both of your actions finally settles.

Puppy-Love-Minho who immediately softens when you grab ahold of both of his hands and tell him that it was okay, that you didn’t mean to laugh — you just couldn’t wrap your head around the fact that he felt the same way about you. He laughs at you, and tells you he’s the one who should be thanking his lucky stars for reciprocating his feelings. 

Puppy-Love-Minho who doesn’t want to let you go when you try to say goodbye; though he eventually does with a sigh when you promise you’d see him tomorrow at school.

Puppy-Love-Minho who doesn’t move from his spot until you were completely out of sight, waving at you every single time you turned to see if he’d gone back inside. Even after you were long gone he remained there, barely able to process the amount of thrill the last twenty four hours had brought to him. 

Puppy-Love-Minho who almost throws up when he realizes he needs to sneak back inside without his parents noticing, and he prays to his lucky stars that he can avoid getting caught. 

posted: 06 • 29 • 2024

💬 a note from green;

Thank you so much for this request! It was so much fun to write honestly but that might be because i accidentally got stoned out of my mind, and I really hope you enjoy this! Also, thank you for enjoying my other works, it really makes my day when I hear people tell me that. Hope to hear from you again!

( 🏷️ ) permanent taglist: @agi-ppangx

HELLO HEY HI

i was the one who made the hyunjin x male reader request and honestly??? it’s so amazing i loved it so much so thank you 💕 i really wasn’t expecting you to actually write my request, and i also didn’t remember sounding so short LMAO so i’m sorry about that!

anyway your writing is seriously so amazing, and i might make another request in the near future if you’re okay with that!

can i be 🍿 anon? hehehe

HELLO HEY HI!!

I’m so, so glad you liked it! I honestly love every request I get, and I genuinely always try to deliver as many as I can since they’re usually so much fun to write. Also, I didn’t think you were short with me at all, so don’t worry! Honestly, you were just very straightforward so that was cool 🫶

Thank you for the compliments! They had me giggling and kicking my feet 🤭 And you’re more than welcomed to make more requests!! I’ll look forward to them!

Welcome to the family, 🍿!

i'm so happy to hear that you're okay! you're one of my favourite people here so i immediately noticed your absence but i'm glad you took your time and didn't rush anything<3

i'm doing okay, just pretty busy with uni stuff but overall i think i'm less stressed lately? so yeah, i'm fine :D

i love you green and i'm really happy you're back!🫶🏽

—👒

i’m definitely not crying at this 🥹 you’re so sweet shut up my eyes are sweating

i’m glad you’re feeling less stressed!! that means it’s the good kind of busy, and i’m happy to hear that 💕💕

i love you too, lovely 💕 i’m happy to be back!

Hihihihi!! Hru!

I was wondering if you could write a stray kids x 9th member!reader where their a a maknae and their family lives far away so chans kinda a father figure for them? Like he looks after her and helps her fall asleep when they’re struggling, and maybe in skz vlogs or codes fans can see how much of a father figure he is to them. Its okay if you can’t ilyy bye❤️❤️

ꖛ ꙳꯬ 🦋 how he cares 𓂅 ໋⋅

💭 GUIDELINES ‣ LIBRARY ‣ TAGLIST & ANONS ‣ IN PROGRESS ‣ REQUEST LIST ‣ PINNED

‧₊° pairing. chan x female reader ( platonically ! )

‧₊° content warnings. not proofread.

‧₊° rating. everyone

‧₊° summary. an episode of 2 kids’ show reveals just how deep your friendship with chan runs.

2 Kids’ Show has come to mean a lot for STAY, a fact that warmed your heart as you glanced around the set which was definitely an upgrade to the old yellow room with the blue couch, although the latter was a symbol of simpler times in a lot of ways. Still, the dingy feeling of a garage being occupied by a band was an aesthetic you hadn’t realized you’d appreciate this much.

Minho was already sitting on his assigned velvety green chair, a small stack of talking-point cards with the freshly designed logo of the show printed on the back in his hands as he waited for his cue to begin. Chan stood by your side, chatting lightly with his hairstylist as she ensured that his hair was perfect. You were already set and ready to begin, no trace of the tingling anxiety that usually plagued you before interviews and you knew it was because the only people you’d have to interact with were the very same people you spoke to daily — this was a relief to you these days.

“Okay!” The manager announced with a sharp clap of his hands in order to attract everyone’s attention. All of the staff quickly made their ways to their needed positions and the hairstylist Chan had been speaking to left him be. “Ready? Scene!”

“Where two kids share their secret stories and music, this is 2 Kids’ Show,” announced Minho, pausing for a moment for a light applause — to which you and Chan obliged albeit belatedly to tease your friend. Minho’s eyes playfully narrowed in your and Chan’s direction, though he quickly moved on with a smile. “I am 2 Kids’ Show’s handsome MC, Lee Know.”

You cupped your hands around your mouth to cheer exaggeratedly, overcompensating for the lack of an enthusiastic applause just a moment prior. Minho winced away from you even with the distance between the two of you. “You were scolding Hyunjin and Jeongin before, you don’t have any grounds to complain saying I don’t cheer now!”

“I do have a complaint actually, you’re being too loud! It hurts my ears!” Minho rolled his eyes playfully before glancing back at the cards in his hands with an amused smile. “Anyway, as you can see, today we have a special pair with us — Stray Kids’ wolf and bumblebee duo that STAY have always loved. To me, they’re a good representation of an endearing friendship, our oldest and youngest members — Chan and Y/N!”

Chan pressed a hand on your lower back to urge you forward, and you let yourself be guided by him with a practiced bright grin as you waved at your group member. You end up seated in between the two men, quickly grabbing one of the cushions of the couch and placing it on your lap out of habit. Chan followed suit, but only so he could fiddle with the fuzz.

“It’s so strange seeing you as our MC,” you commented lightly.

“Is it? Good or bad?”

You shrug innocently. “I guess we’re going to have to wait and see!”

“Careful,” Minho teased with an exaggerated ominous grin. “I’m the one leading this interview.”

Chan chuckled beside you, though he remained quiet otherwise.

“Okay! Chan and Y/N how have you two been lately?”

You glance over at Chan, unsure of whether he should begin speaking of you, but he made the choice for you as he absentmindedly nodded at you whilst keeping his eyes glued on the pillow. With an understanding nod, you clear your throat and turn to face Minho. Chan has been a bit on the quieter side, evidently exhausted by the grueling hours of work and the pressure of the recent comeback almost weighing him down slightly — although he would never admit it. “I’ve been pretty good, actually. Yesterday was my day off, so I was able to tend to my plants at home.”

“Oh, how are they?”

A frown tugged at yourself, pushing your lower lip into a frown. “Titi, my tradescantia died, which was really sad since it’d managed to live so long. They’re really difficult to keep alive since they require a lot of water, and I’ve heard how often they tend to die so I was very proud of myself when I managed to keep it for a bit despite our busy schedule.”

“Oh, Titi died?” Chan questioned, highly surprised by this new piece of information. It wasn’t uncommon for you to call or text him whenever one of your plants died since you had a deep love for them and always took their ends straight to your heart — it was a failure you couldn’t bring yourself to forgive, and it always made you work harder with the next plant. Not to say that you didn’t have a green thumb, your experience caring for them since childhood was more than enough proof of your abilities, but death comes to all and yet it hurts nevertheless. Titi in particular had been struggling for quite a bit despite your constant attempts to make things better for her, and by the time you found her completely lifeless in your pot, you were painfully aware of Chan being asleep after spending all night awake.

“Yeah,” you confirmed with a slightly guilty smile. “It was quite tragic, actually. But my gardenia flowers have just started blooming a few days ago, and I’m really excited to see them in their prime. It’s also nerve-wracking because they’re also said to be extremely difficult to maintain and I really don’t want to deal with another Titi. Since I don’t have an actual garden in a subtropical country, I had to invest in a container so I can control the temperature. They’re actually said to thrive really well with moderate warmth that is somewhere between 18°C and 21°C and their soil must be kept consistently moist at all times and also —”

Minho splayed his hands in front of himself to signal for you to stop, and so you snapped your mouth shut as a slight tinge of color rose to your cheeks. “You know we love you, and I will ask you about this after the interview. But we should probably move on with the questions.”

“Right. Sorry.”

Chan chuckled a bit, reaching out to rub your back in small circles to soothe you like he always did. Minho, catching the kind gesture, grinned brightly and pointed at Chan’s hand that stopped immediately when caught.

“That’s actually one of the things we wanted to talk about here,” Minho announced with a slight glint of mischief. “I think it’ll be okay if I jump a few questions now that we’re on the topic and then circle back to the others, right?”

The three of you glanced at your manager and director, both of whom nodded and motioned for Minho to continue. Chan drew his hand back, focusing on the pillow once more.

“Right, so I think we’re all guilty of watching some of the videos that STAYs make online. I for one find them to be very entertaining, but I also noticed that there’s a greater amount of content made of you two — a lot of people really admire your friendship, so how’s that looking so far?”

This time, you nudged Chan’s knee with your own. He glanced up and cleared his own throat. “I love watching those videos, honestly. I think it’s really interesting to see how many STAYs can appreciate it. I know Y/N and I have been through a lot together and it really makes me appreciate her even more these days.”

“Channie,” you teased. “You make it sound like we’re dating.”

“I was just about to say! Right?” Minho burst out, chuckling as Chan rolled his eyes. It’s a joke as old as time, really, and it couldn’t be further from the truth — no matter how many fans believe it to be true. You didn’t blame those who viewed you and Chan as something more than friends, however, because everyone is entitled to their own opinions when it really comes down to it, and it’s a consequence of being an idol that you needed to embrace regardless of how frustrating it could be at times. All that being said, you and the boys have found a way to bring humor into the whole thing, which oftentimes makes it easier to deal with.

As Chan reached across from your body to swat at Minho with his pillow, you couldn’t help but giggle. “Anyway,” he continued as he sent his friend a pointed look. “I just think that after being friends for so long, it’s natural for us to become as close as we are. Besides, Y/N always needs me, which makes me very happy.”

His words seemed to warm every cell in your body, these thoughts of his were not new to you since it was something that he frequently mentioned during those late nights spent either working or having a drink together. It was the mere thought of you making him feel as wanted as you knew he deserved to feel that made you content, it was the least you could do for him when he sacrificed so much for everyone in the group on a daily basis.

“I think we’ve earned the right to be this close.” Minho cocked his head to the side, silently urging you to elaborate on your comment. “I mean, I’m not born or raised in Korea like most of the other members are, and the only ones who could really understand what it meant to be homesick were him and Felix. Oftentimes, I would find myself in bed just wide awake because I couldn’t help but obsess over my troubles. Every time my mind was just spinning like that, I knew I could count on Chan, to calm me down.

It’s especially sweet, too, because we all know Chan is a bit of a workaholic, but whenever someone needs him he just…stops and turns all of his focus on us and it made me feel very seen. He listens, and offers his own insights and is just like the big brother I always need around. Usually those nights end with us in the living room, and I’ll fall asleep to the sounds of his keyboards click-clacking as he continues working. Chan just has that soothing aura that helps so much.”

Chan could only watch as you spoke about him, those mini stars that only seemed to appear when watching his members. You held his gaze for only a moment, hoping he could feel the sincerity oozing from your expression.

“I think it’s safe to say that STAYs really do see that.” Minho was leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees, lips curled up into a soft lopsided smile as he watched the interaction between the two. All of the members shared their own special friendships with you that you adored and appreciated with every fiber of your being, but the fact that Chan was your platonic soulmate was an undeniable fact. “The fact that Y/N is our maknae also probably plays a part in this friendship. Chan, has there ever been a time in which Y/N felt like she was older?”

After a moment of careful consideration, Chan responded with: “I think Y/N can be very nurturing when she wants to be. She’s always making sure that I’ve drank enough water and she often brings me meals when she can because I do spend an awful lot of time working. But other than that, she’s still very much a big baby — OW!”

Your hand stung slightly from when you smacked his arm, guilt seeped into your smile since you hadn’t meant for it to hurt that much. Nevertheless, you stood your ground.

“Would a big baby be that strong?”

Minho chuckled at the scene. “I think you’re proving him right, though.”

“I’ll hit you too, you know.’

“Okay, okay, let us move on from this before you start getting all violent.” Although he was partly teasing, Minho was not a stranger to your slaps that always hit harder than you’d mean to, as though you were a large puppy that didn’t know its strength. “Y/N, has Chan ever felt like he was younger?”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t even think about it,” Chan chortled.

“Don’t have to,” you said with a wicked grin curling up your lips. “He’s a big baby when he doesn’t get any attention and also when he’s sick.”

At this, Minho burst out laughing. “No, you’re right. She’s right.”

It was now Chan’s turn to let his hand fly and make contact with your arm, though his slap was significantly lighter than yours. You still pretended to be distressed due to the pain, clutching the area that he touched and twisting your face in mock suffering.

The questions on Minho’s talking-point cards continued rolling off of his tongue as the interview carried on. It was a time that, had the goal truly been to cover every single aspect of yours and Chan’s relationship, it’d never end. He was the kind of guy you trusted with everything, and you knew he felt the same way towards you. Bang Chan was your best friend, the brother you always needed, and your guide when in the darkness. By the time the cameras stopped rolling almost immediately after your collaborative singing in the end, the promise of buying lunch was on the tip of your tongue as you jogged to catch with his wider footsteps.

word count: 2.2k 🦋 posted: 01 • 03 • 2024

💬 a note from green;

First of all, Happy New Years! Hope it’s 2024 is being kind to everyone thus far.

Secondly, thank you for the request my dear Anonnie! I really hope this is good, I’ve never written anything about a ninth member, much less in a platonic way so I struggled slightly on how to do it. I’m gonna be very honest right now and say that I am not a platonic anything haha, my girlfriend (who found my account recently) will tell you that much. We did a lot of “platonic” shit before we finally admitted that we were, in fact, not being platonic at all. So, yeah. I do love a challenge so I really appreciate it!

Finally, I’m finally feeling better! All I have is a mild cough, nothing too bad compared to what I was dealing before so be ready for more posts!

⨳ kofi ⨳

( 🏷️ ) taglist: @grandpafelixx , @agi-ppangx

🥹🥹 thank you so much! it makes me so happy to know you like it ilysm 🩷

⨳ ❛𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐒 𝐀𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓

스트레이 키즈 ( 한 ) + idol female reader ⇅ genre angst hurt + comfort semi-slowburn chapter warning mentions of reader being in pain slight mommy issues reader being stressed with work and having some imposter's syndrome symptoms rating 18+ word count 1.5k summary in which two disabled idols find comfort in each other’s arms status on going q&a open

# other works by green # kofi # free palestine # palestine stayblr fundraiser # series masterlist

⌗ O1┆shrined

ten months earlier

It’s a shrine. Photographs and posters of your own face decorate the walls of your former bedroom, framed and hung neatly into rows according to the dates released. The wobbly old bookshelves that used to hold your most cherished books had been replaced by plain white ones that now hold nothing more than your albums and merchandise. The desk you’d spent hours upon hours sitting at while studying or writing songs until your body physically could not hold you up any longer is gone, and in place there are a few life-sized cardboards that you’re certain were not bought, but taken. The only familiarity in this shrine is your bed, dressed in the same crimson color you’d always adored. There sat you, a shell of someone whose face was never on the walls in such a way, along with your suitcase that lay untouched since you’ve arrived. 

A plethora of conflicting emotions overwhelmed your entire being as memories upon memories you often avoided flooded your already busy mind, causing a migraine to creep in through your temples. Although you’d already taken some medicine for it, you doubt it would be something that might be relieved without a proper night’s sleep. However, as your mother poked her head through the half-closed door of your old bedroom, you knew that might not be the case. Regardless, you pulled the corners of your lips into a smile you hoped would be convincing enough for her as she made her way inside to take a seat beside you. 

She looked around at the redecorating she did, blushing slightly. “I couldn’t help it, I wanted to support you in your success.”

You didn’t say anything, instead opting to take another look around at all of the eerie posters you’d barely remember posing for. The dark tones of horror present in every single thing that contained your stage name, Noctara, that created an odd feeling of looking at someone else instead of your own face. 

“I wanted to have it all in the living room, so that our friends could see how hard you’re working, but your father thought it might scare some of them away,” she laughed softly at this, rolling her eyes as though she thought it was the most ridiculous thing, and although you’d side with your father, you smiled at her anyway. It was odd to watch her find something to say, considering the last time you’d seen her in person had been so hurtful. It could only mean that she wished to forget about it — or maybe she already did. 

It wasn’t surprising in the least that she would choose to display your success now that you couldn’t walk the streets without covering up half of your face so you wouldn’t be recognized. Although you’d always had an affinity for performing, there were too many times in which you considered quitting with your mother’s obsession with having a talented child. Too many times had you been pushed right up to the edge, struggling to grab onto something to hold and keep you from falling. The irony of you being a successful idol does not escape you, though, as deadlines and busy schedules creep up behind you every time you attempt to catch a breath; only this time, you couldn’t run behind your doting father to save you from the heavy weight of the expectations of others — not when your career found itself at its peak. 

Because of your career, you were able to have your father retire from his construction job and help him pursue his lifelong dream of owning a record store right around the corner of your street. If you quit and hide now, your family that now depends on your income would be left with nothing despite your father’s store blooming thanks to this generation buying vinyls again, and it wouldn’t be fair no matter how you felt about them at the end of the day. 

“Have you seen my garden?” Your mother asked after what felt like an eternity of silence. You shake your head, surprised to hear she’d finally done what she had always said she would: to tend the gardens that had spent so many years of your childhood neglected. “Come with me.”

She motioned with her hand for you to follow her, quickly standing up and rushing out of your room as though she’d have preferred being anywhere else. With a soft groan, you stand on your feet as you ignore the ache on your lower back and knees. 

The glass sliding doors that led to your backyard was wide open when you finally stepped into the common areas of your house. Your mother stood on the porch, smiling widely as you finally scanned her hard work. It was clear that she did not plan a single thing, with wildflowers of all kinds scattered around and standing almost as tall as yourself. Though she did make a stone path that would meet in the very center where a gorgeous fountain was found. Although the chaos was present wherever your eyes landed, you couldn’t help but be completely mesmerized by its unconventional yet natural beauty. 

“It’s beautiful,” you breathed. She motioned for the porch swing right beside the sliding doors, and you gladly took a seat as she joined you. “I’m glad you finally got the garden you wanted.”

With a gentle smile, she said, “It could not have been without you.”

You tried to ignore the swelling in your chest, though the smile that formed against your wishes betrayed you and your mother smiled a little wider though thankfully did not say anything for another long while. 

“Do you have anyone?”

The sudden question caused you to scoff, rolling your eyes before you could stop yourself. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” she forced out through gritted teeth at your attitude, so you purse your lips as a silent apology. “Are you seeing anyone?”

“Mom,” you sighed. “You know that I am not allowed to be dating as an idol.”

“Yes, that might be true,” she continued to insist. “But I am always reading about idols who date anyway.”

“And why are you able to read about it, Mom? Because they were either caught or because their companies allowed them to come out as taken.”

“Yes, yes,” she swatted her hands in the air as if physically dismissing your words. “Rules are only a suggestion, they can’t ultimately control you like that.”

At the words coming out of her mouth, you can’t help but chuckle breathlessly and glance up at the stars above as if they’d send some strength your way. The incongruity of her words almost made you want to laugh out loud. 

“You don’t understand, I could get fired if I am caught dating, and it has happened before.”

“At least listen to what I have to say,” she huffed stubbornly, and you sighed in defeat. “The reason why I bring this up is because I met with an old friend of mine from my youth—”

“Absolutely not.”

“Hold on—”

“No, Mom, I am not meeting any sons of your friends.”

“Please!”

At her shout, you stopped yourself from responding any further, jaw clenched together in annoyance. In order to keep your composure, you turned your gaze towards the serene garden. 

“I met with a friend from my youth, and she has a son who is also an idol. I didn’t promise her anything, but I told her I would talk to you about it and if you agreed then you’d meet with the boy at the coffee shop two blocks away from here this Friday. Even if you’re concerned with your company firing you, which I doubt given your success, you can always just say you were meeting a friend instead of being on a date. There is really no harm in meeting one boy for your mother’s sake.”

“My answer is still no, I don’t want to—”

“Oh, Y/N, please! I don’t ask you for much—”

“No, Mom, you ask me for everything! It doesn’t mean that I don’t appreciate all that you have done for me because I do, but my answer will still be a solid no.”

“So you would rather embarrass me?”

With an exasperated sigh, you look up at the stars once more, begging them to save you at this point. 

“You know what, fine,” you grit out, not bothering to hide your clear frustration. “But I will meet him only once and you will never bother me with this nonsense again.”

The beam that took over her expression would have been comical if you weren’t so exasperated with her. She hops to her feet in excitement, kissing your cheeks before rushing back inside to presumably tell your father about this. In the distance, you could hear her reminding you that the meeting would be this Friday at noon. 

Another sigh makes it past your lips, rubbing your temples before leaning back in your seat. 

The garden truly was beautiful, and the starry night sky was even more stunning. 

posted: 06 • 14 • 2024

💬 a note from green;

i broke up with my girlfriend today but we roll haha. Anyway, I hope everyone enjoys this chapter, more will be coming since i'm just going to throw myself into writing instead of coping because therapy is expensive and i don't want to.

( 🏷️ ) taglist: @agi-ppangx @jisunglyricist

you can burst into flames.

💭 GUIDELINES ‣ LIBRARY ‣ TAGLIST & ANONS ‣ IN PROGRESS ‣ REQUEST LIST ‣ PINNED

pairing: seungmin x gender neutral reader

content warnings: hurt/comfort, reader has a fear of thunderstorms, reader goes nonverbal

rating: e (for everyone)

summary: seungmin helps you get through a thunderstorm by showering you with tender love and singing to you.

🕯️ volcano — seungmin & han (2 kids’ show)

A myriad of candles lit up the bedroom you’ve shared with your lover for a few years, casting its yellow glow over the sheltered space while the world outside took on the wrath of the thunderous storm that has carried on for the past several hours. Your soft snores were the only sounds heard apart from the violent pattering of the rain against the windows and the occasional boom of thunder, your head rested on Seungmin’s chest as you’d finally slept.

The two of you had just settled on the couch to watch a movie together when it first started raining, a small detail you’d taken note of yet paid no mind to at first. Although as the weather worsened, so did your anxiety. Seungmin was well aware of the person you became whenever the first strike of lightning occurred – almost as though you had been replaced before his very eyes as your muscles tensed and your eyes clouded with fear. He’d tried to comfort you as soon as he knew what would come, though nothing can really prevent you from panicking, and this was a fact that aggrieved him deeply since he would do anything to make you smile once again although this was beyond his power.

When the power went out as a result of the storm, the trembling and whimpering began. Seungmin was not allowed to leave your side for even a second as you gripped the hem of his shirt. And so he gently took your hand and guided you towards the hallway closet where you stored the innumerable amounts of candles you liked buying, and then took you with him towards the kitchen to find a lighter. Throughout the entire process, you could hear him murmuring sweet little nothings as a form of encouragement while moving at the pace you’d set. He sat you on your bed, and immediately began lighting as many candles as he could, creating as much light as he could before he settled beside you. Arms pulling you into his comforting embrace, your back pressed to his chest as he whispered about how brave you were being. You didn’t think so, since you felt a little ridiculous being so afraid of something so silly at your age, but the sincerity in his voice made you feel validated.

“I’m sorry,” you whimpered after jumping at a particularly loud crack of thunder. “This is so stupid, and we were having such a nice time before all of this.”

Seungmin pressed a tender kiss to the back of your head, settling his chin on top of your head as his thumb rubbed gentle circles on your shoulder. “Sorry for what? There’s nothing to be sorry about.”

You couldn’t help but pout slightly, sitting up so you could look at him. He merely chuckled at the sight, hand reaching up to push a strand of hair away from your face and you could see the tiny flames from the candles reflected in his eyes. It took everything in you to not melt into his touch, your heart immediately steadying. Love was engraved in every touch, every word and you adored it. You adored him in a way you couldn’t even begin to describe. “I’m sorry you’re dating someone with childish fears.”

His expression suddenly turned serious as he furrowed his brows and frowned up at you. “It’s not childish at all, what are you talking about? I don’t want to hear any self-pitying from you, I want you to know that you’re being very brave, and I love that about you.”

He looked so stern you couldn’t help but smile a little bit, rolling your eyes playfully. But as you glanced at him again, you could see the expectant expression on his face as he waited for you to say the same words he always forced you to say in moments like these. So you sighed, moving around on the bed so that you could rest your head on his chest. However, right as you opened your mouth another thunder seemed to shake the room, which caused you to scream in surprise instead. His arms immediately wrapped themselves around your trembling body, hands squeezing whatever he could grab as a way to make sure you knew he was there with you.

With your eyes squeezed shut, you mumbled over and over again: “I’m being brave right now. The storm can’t touch me. I’m safe with Seungmin. I’m being brave right now. The storm can’t touch me. I’m safe with Seungmin. I’m being so brave right now, and Seungmin is proud of me.”

Seungmin’s lips pressed against your hair once again as he settled into a more comfortable position from underneath you. “I am so, so proud of my baby right now.”

Although the rain had shown signs of slowing down over the past hour, it seemed to intensify now, and your body began trembling once more. Seungmin was at a loss right now, he couldn’t think of anything else to say or do while the two of you rode out the storm. It wasn’t the first time that he’d had to help you through something like this, and he was always so willing to calm your mind and settle your heart each and every time; though it always seemed as though he would run out of things to do or say as the storms carried on. As you balled up his shirt into your shaking fists, he cleared his throat.

“You know,” he began, voice soft yet loud enough to be heard over the noise. “Hannie and Chan have been working on a song together. It made me think of you.”

This piqued your interest, releasing a shuddering breath as you momentarily looked up to let him know you’ve heard him since your voice seemed to have stopped working. He understood immediately as his eyes remained fixated on the dancing flames of the candles he’d placed in front of your bedroom television.

“You know Hannie’s always been good with words.” Seungmin smiled slightly at the thought, his fingers finding their way to your hair as he played with it. “Would you like to hear it?”

Without hesitation, you reach over his lower torso to squeeze his hip. Another crack of thunder was heard, and you jumped.

“I’ll protect you, it’s okay to hurt,” he began, your eyes shutting as his melodic voice rang through the air. “I’ll embrace the wounds you shed. To me, you’re already a sin…”

A soft smile tugged on your lips, your heart and breathing steadied at last, your muscles relaxing. Seungmin could feel the weight of your body change almost immediately as he continued to sing, and his heart soared at the realization of the effect he had on you. “...You were so warm when you hugged me tight. I guess I teared up for a moment, because it was the first time…”

Anything outside of this embrace seemed to fade away at your lover’s soulful singing, the warmth of his body and his fingertips that traced swirly figures on your skin bringing a sense of peace you didn’t expect. You sighed in content.

“...You can burst into flames, you can wound me next to you if you like, I can be anything…”

As the first of your snores were heard, Seungmin finally relaxed completely. You’ve endured another stormy night, and his own heart warmed at the sight of your sleeping figure. He didn’t stop singing, though, determined to finish the song at this point – the song that had reminded him of you the first time he read the lyrics, the song he’d unintentionally associated with you and he wasn’t the least bit sorry about it.

“...you are my volcano.”

word count: 1.2k 🕯️ posted: 12 • 02 • 2023

🪲 TAGLIST !

# @grandpafelixx

I’m so, so glad you enjoyed it! Feel free to request again! 🫶

──── * ˚ ✦ THE LAST STRAW ( stray kids )

❛ After a final argument with your toxic, manipulative mother over your irresponsible younger brother, you decide to cut ties with your family, only to be overwhelmed by doubt and panic until your supportive boyfriend, Felix, reassures you that choosing yourself was the right decision.

𝐥𝐞𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐱 + gender neutral reader ೯ ( 𝐨𝐧𝐞-𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 )

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 3.5k 𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞: 14 mins

꒰ 💌 ꒱ ミ Here's a wonderful request made by @lixies-favorite-cookie! I hope you guys enjoy, reblogs and feedback are much appreciated! Requests are currently open! ── ( 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 )

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Non-Idol AU, emotional abuse, family conflict, mommy issues, mental health struggles, parental neglect, parental favoritism, depression and self-worth issues, let me know if I missed anything!

( 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 ) ( 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 & 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ) ( 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ) ( 𝐭𝐢𝐩 𝐣𝐚𝐫 )

The kitchen feels like a war zone, the air thick with unsaid accusations and the sharp remnants of long-festered wounds. Your mother stands at the sink, her back rigid and unforgiving, hands submerged in soapy water as she scrubs a dish with a ferocity that speaks louder than words. Each stroke of her hand seems to scrape away at the silence, but instead of clarity, it only stirs the storm between you. You can almost see the tension rippling off her like waves of heat from a furnace, feeding the blaze that has been building in your chest, threatening to consume you.

“So, that’s it?” you ask, your voice taut, straining against the anger simmering just below the surface. “You’re really going to ignore everything I’ve said and expect me to drop everything—again—to drive him around?” There’s a tremor in your tone, a plea for acknowledgment masked by the bitterness of your words. But she doesn’t turn to face you. Instead, she sighs, a heavy, exaggerated breath that fills the room with disdain, as if you are the one being irrational, ungrateful.

“He doesn’t have anyone else,” she replies, her voice dripping with exasperation, as if you should already know this. “And it’s not like it’s a big deal—you’re already out and about. What’s a little detour to help your brother?”

Her words hit you like a slap across the face, stinging and familiar. “A little detour?” you echo, a disbelieving laugh slipping out, sharp and brittle. “Mom, I have a job. I have classes. I’m barely keeping up as it is. But sure, let’s add ‘chauffeur for the man-child’ to my list of responsibilities.”

At this, she finally turns, her face set in that hardened expression you know so well—eyes narrowed, lips pulled into a thin, unforgiving line. “Don’t talk about him like that,” she snaps, her voice a low warning. “He’s your brother. He’s just going through a rough time.”

A bitter, exhausted laugh escapes your lips, and you can feel the years of buried frustration rising up, threatening to overflow. "A rough time?" you repeat, your voice growing louder, each word carrying the weight of all the grievances you’ve kept bottled up for so long. “He’s been ‘going through a rough time’ for the last five years! And every single time he screws up, you’re right there, wiping his slate clean, making excuses for him. He never has to face the consequences of anything, and somehow, I’m always the one left to pick up the pieces!”

Your voice cracks, and the room seems to tremble with the force of your words. All the times you’ve been overlooked, all the sacrifices you’ve made without a second thought, all the nights spent wondering why you were never enough—everything comes crashing down in this moment. You stand there, breathless, waiting for something, anything, that resembles an acknowledgment of what you’ve endured.

But she doesn’t see it. She doesn’t hear it. She doesn’t even flinch. And that, more than anything, is what breaks you.

"That's not true," your mother snaps, her voice cutting through the air like the crack of a whip, cold and biting. "You don’t know what he’s going through. You’ve always been so hard on him, never understanding." Her words hang in the air, thick with accusation, and you feel a familiar frustration beginning to coil tightly in your chest.

You scoff, the sound escaping before you can stop it, disbelief etched across your face. "Understanding?" you fire back, voice laced with incredulity. "You mean like how you’re 'understanding' when he crashes his car because he was out partying, and you expect me to drop everything, put my entire life and future on hold, to make up for it? Or how you’re 'understanding' when he blows all his money on God knows what, and I’m the one who has to lend him my hard-earned cash so he can pay his rent? You’ve always been ‘understanding’ of him, but when have you ever been ‘understanding’ of me?"

For a moment, the room falls silent, heavy with the weight of everything that has been left unsaid for far too long. Your mother’s eyes flash dangerously, a mix of anger and frustration, a glare that once would have made you swallow your words, scramble to backtrack and apologize. But not today. Today, the exhaustion has settled too deeply in your bones, mingling with the anger that has simmered for years, bubbling to the surface.

"You think I don’t care about you?" she spits out, her voice rising, each word sharp and defensive. "I’ve done everything for you! You grew up with food on the table and a roof over your head. You have a job now, you’re in college, you have everything going for you. Do you think that just happened by itself?"

Her audacity stings, her self-righteousness fanning the flames inside you. Every vein feels like it’s on fire, adrenaline surging through your body. “No,” you say, voice trembling but strong, each word pushed out with a force that surprises even you. “Don’t you dare take credit for what little good I have in my life. Don’t you dare. Everything I have going for me is because I worked for it. I was the one who graduated as valedictorian in high school—not you, not him. I worked my ass off to get into college, scrapping for every scholarship I could find so I wouldn’t have to drown in debt later. I found my own place to live, found a job so I could pay my own bills, held myself together when everything around me was falling apart.”

Your words pour out like a flood, each one more bitter than the last. You can see her eyes narrowing, her lips tightening, but it only pushes you to keep going. “But you? Sure, you fed me, you put a roof over my head—like the law says you should. But you only ever noticed me when I was useful to him, when I made things easier for your golden child."

The silence that follows is deafening, filled with the echoes of things that have finally been said, the raw truth laid bare between you. The tension in the room is electric, the weight of years of imbalance, neglect, and misplaced loyalty pressing down on your shoulders. But for the first time, you feel something shift inside you—a spark of liberation, a sense that perhaps, just perhaps, you’ve finally stepped out of the shadow that has loomed over you for so long.

"You're being so selfish," she spits, her voice trembling with a barely controlled fury that makes the walls tremble. The dishes slip from her hands, clattering into the sink with a loud clank as she whirls around to face you. Her eyes are wild, nearly bulging out of her head, her face flushed with indignation. "You have no idea what it's like to be a parent, to have to make these kinds of decisions." The venom in her words seeps into the air, choking you with its bitterness.

But you don’t flinch. Your fists curl even tighter at your sides, nails digging into your palms as you stand your ground, locking eyes with her. "I'm selfish?" A bitter laugh escapes you, sharp and brittle, and you can feel the hot sting of unshed tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. "Do you even hear yourself? You've spent years bending over backwards to coddle him, to fix every single one of his messes. And every time, it's me who gets caught in the crossfire. It's always me who’s expected to be the 'responsible one.' And what do I get for it? Nothing. Not a thank you, not a 'good job,' not even a fraction of the support and understanding you so eagerly throw at him."

Your mother’s hand slams down on the counter with a thunderous bang, making you jump. Her face is a twisted mask of rage and frustration. "You've always had a chip on your shoulder about him," she sneers, her tone dripping with condescension, as if speaking to a petulant child. "Maybe if you weren't so jealous—"

"Don't even start." You cut her off, your voice cracking under the weight of everything you’ve kept bottled up for so long. "I'm not jealous, Mom. I'm tired. I'm tired of being the one who has to sacrifice everything while he coasts through life, knowing you’ll always be there to bail him out. I'm tired of you making me feel like I’m never enough, like I’m only here to clean up his messes and make things easier for him."

The air thickens, a suffocating silence falling between you. Your mother’s face hardens, her eyes narrowing into icy slits. "If you don't like it, then maybe you should just leave," she says, her words cutting through the tension like a knife. "You're an adult now, aren’t you? You can make your own choices."

Her words hang in the air, daring you to speak, to react. For a moment, you’re stunned, the breath catching in your throat. Then, softly, like a truth you've kept buried, you say, "Maybe I should." The words taste like freedom on your tongue, a release from years of guilt and fear. "Because I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep letting you use me to prop him up while you tear me down. I deserve better than this."

For a fleeting moment, something flickers in her eyes—something almost vulnerable, almost human. But it vanishes as quickly as it came, replaced by the same cold indifference that has always been there. "Fine. Do what you want," she says dismissively, her tone devoid of emotion. "But don’t come crying to me when you realize you can’t handle the world I’ve protected you from."

A humorless laugh bubbles up in your throat, but you swallow it down, taking a deep breath instead. You feel the weight of years of resentment, of pain and unspoken truths, settling into place. "I won't," you reply, voice steady as a stone. "Because I've been handling the world all my life. You never protected me from it—you only ever protected your golden child. And I’m done."

You turn away, leaving her standing there, leaving behind the suffocating grip of a mother who never truly saw you. You walk out of the kitchen, out of the house that never felt like a home, and with each step, the air feels a little lighter, the world outside a little more open. For the first time, you feel the distant, hopeful glimmer of something new—something that belongs to you, and you alone.

You sit in the driver’s seat, fingers clenched around the steering wheel with a grip so tight that your knuckles have turned ghostly white. Each breath you take is shallow and ragged, barely filling your lungs. Your heart hammers in your chest, erratic and wild, a drumbeat of panic. The weight of the argument you just had with your mother crashes over you like an unrelenting wave, cold and suffocating. It presses down on you with a force that makes you feel as if you’re drowning, gasping for air but finding none.

Your eyes remain fixed on the house in front of you—your childhood home, a place that should have held comfort and warmth but instead feels like a prison. Each window, each door, every familiar detail seems to glare back at you like a hundred judgmental eyes, watching, waiting. This is where you learned the rules of a game you never asked to play. A place where love was conditional, tethered to sacrifice and silence. And now, it’s a place you’ve walked away from—perhaps for good.

Your vision blurs with unshed tears, and you let out a shaky breath that comes out more like a sob than you intended. You blink rapidly, trying to clear the sting from your eyes, but it’s useless. You can’t stay here, not in front of this house where the walls seem to whisper accusations, where every step closer feels like sinking deeper into quicksand. You can’t risk your mother storming out with that familiar fire in her eyes, her voice like a vice, twisting your emotions to suit her will.

With trembling hands, you fumble for your phone, fingers unsteady as they swipe through your contacts. You need an anchor, something to steady you before you’re pulled under by the crushing weight of it all. You find his name—Felix. Your thumb hovers for a moment, then presses the call button. You raise the phone to your ear, the screen blurring with tears as you pull out of the driveway. You don’t have a destination in mind; you just need to be moving, to put distance between you and that house.

The line rings once, twice, and with each unanswered ring, the panic coils tighter in your chest, rising into your throat like bile. What if he doesn’t pick up? What if he’s busy? What if you’re left alone with the noise in your head? But then—

"Hey, sunshine," his voice breaks through, warm and steady, like the first rays of dawn piercing through the darkest night. His tone is so familiar, so safe. "You okay? I'm just—"

You don’t let him finish. Your voice cracks as you speak, holding back the sob that threatens to spill over. "Felix...I—I did it. I told her...I told her that I'm done. I can't...I can't believe that I actually did it." The words rush out of you in a breathless stream, a confession that feels both terrifying and freeing.

There’s a pause on the other end, a silence that feels heavy with the weight of his understanding. You can almost hear him processing your words, feel the concern threading through the line. When he finally speaks, his voice is soft, careful. "You talked to her?" he asks, his tone gentle yet laced with worry. "What happened?"

His question hangs in the air, pulling at your heartstrings, inviting you to pour out the torrent of emotions swirling inside you. And for the first time in what feels like forever, you feel like you can breathe, even if just a little, knowing that someone is there to catch you as you fall.

You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, a futile attempt to push back the tears that threaten to spill over. Your heart is pounding in your chest, a heavy, uneven rhythm that matches the chaos in your mind. When you open your eyes again, you force yourself to focus on the road, blinking rapidly to clear the blurriness from your vision. You suck in a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself, to find some semblance of calm amidst the storm raging inside you.  

"It was about my man-child of a brother again," you start, your voice wavering as you speak. Each word feels like a shard of glass, cutting through the tightness in your throat. "She wanted me to...to fucking drop everything and take care of his mess again. He crashed the damn car, and she’s not even mad at him. She was actually more pissed at me for not wanting to drive him everywhere." The bitterness in your tone is unmistakable, tinged with a raw edge of frustration that’s been simmering for far too long. "And I just...I couldn’t take it anymore, Lix. I told her I’m done. I told her I wasn’t coming back."  

Your breath hitches, and a sob finally breaks free, raw and unrestrained, as you come to a stop at a red light. The tears you've been holding back spill over, warm and unwelcome, streaking down your cheeks. "But what if I made a mistake? What if I’m wrong?" you choke out, the words heavy with doubt and fear. "I mean, they are my family at the end of the day, and I’m nothing without them. What if I...what if I shouldn’t have done this?"  

On the other end of the line, you hear a soft rustling, a familiar sound that brings a small measure of comfort. You know he’s moving, pacing like he always does when he’s worried. Felix’s voice comes through, steady and gentle, like a lifeline. "Hey, hey, take a breath for me, hmm?" he murmurs, his tone soothing. "Just breathe. In and out, yeah? I’m right here."  

You try to follow his instructions as you ease off the brake, the traffic lights changing to green. You take a deep breath in, filling your lungs, and then let it out, but the exhale is shaky, faltering, as if your body is resisting the calm he’s trying to instill. The tears keep flowing, unchecked, but his voice remains a steady anchor amidst the turbulent sea of your emotions.  

"You did the right thing, love," he continues, his voice firm with conviction—a conviction you desperately need to hear right now. "You’ve been dealing with their bullshit for so long. Too long. You deserve to let it go. You deserve to be free of it all."  

Without much thought, you turn the car to the right, feeling the pull of his reassurance guiding you, even if you’re not quite sure where you’re going. "But what if...what if Mom’s right?" you whisper, your voice trembling with uncertainty. "What if I am being selfish? I just...I grew up with this rule in my head that family always helps family, so what if I’m being a shitty person by refusing?"  

For a moment, there’s a pause, a breath of silence that hangs in the air, heavy with all the questions and fears you can’t quite voice. Felix’s next words are gentle, but they cut through that fog with a clarity that brings you back from the edge. "You’re not selfish," he says quietly but firmly. "Sometimes, family isn't about blood; it’s about who stands by you, who sees you. And you’ve been standing on your own for a long time. It’s okay to want more than just survival."  

Tears spill down your cheeks, hot and unrelenting, blurring your vision as they cascade over your skin. You press the heel of your hand against your eyes, trying to stem the flow, but it’s like trying to dam a river with a single stone—futile. The weight of everything, the argument, the years of silent endurance, crashes over you in waves, threatening to pull you under. With a shaky breath, you pull onto the side of the road, the tires crunching over gravel, and the car comes to a halt. 

"I’m scared, Lix," you confess, your voice breaking, small and fragile as it escapes you. "I’m scared that I’ll regret this." The words hang in the air, and for a moment, it feels like the world is holding its breath with you. Your heart is a clenched fist in your chest, squeezing tighter with each passing second. 

Then, his voice breaks through the silence—a warm, comforting presence that feels like a soft embrace, wrapping around you when you need it most. "You won’t," he says, his tone gentle yet firm, a soothing balm for your frayed nerves. "You know why, huh? Because you’re finally choosing yourself. And that’s not something to regret, not ever. Love, I’m not trying to say it’ll be easy from now on, but you deserve to be happy. You deserve to be loved for who you are, not for what you can do for someone else."

A shaky breath escapes your lips, and the tightness in your chest starts to loosen, if only a little. His words are like a lifeline, grounding you, pulling you back from the edge of your doubts. Deep down, beneath the fear and the uncertainty, you know he’s right. You’ve carried this weight for so long that it feels strange to think of setting it down. But his words are a steady anchor, keeping you from drifting away. 

"Can I come over?" you ask, your voice almost a whisper, raw and vulnerable. "I don’t... I don’t want to be alone right now." The admission feels like exposing a wound, but with Felix, it’s okay. It’s always been okay.

There isn’t a moment of hesitation before he responds, his voice filled with that unwavering reassurance you’ve come to rely on. "Of course. I’m not home right now, but I was already on my way from class, so I’ll meet you there, okay? Just stay on the phone with me until I get there. We’ll figure everything out together."  

You nod, even though he can’t see you, feeling a small, tired smile tug at the corners of your lips. There’s still a lingering ache in your heart, but it’s softer now, more manageable. "Thank you, babe," you whisper, the words heavy with gratitude and love. 

"Always," he murmurs back, his voice a soft promise that settles deep within you. "Just keep breathing, sunshine. I’ve got you. I always will."

With his voice still in your ear, you restart the car, feeling his presence as a guiding light through the darkness that’s clouded your path for so long. The road stretches out before you, uncertain and unfamiliar, but with Felix by your side—even if only through the phone—it doesn’t seem quite so daunting. 

For the first time in what feels like years, there’s a flicker of something warm blooming in your chest. Hope. Fragile, tentative, but undeniably there. And for now, that’s enough.

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🍉 FROM THE RIVER TO THE SEA, PALESTINE WILL BE FREE! DAILY CLICKS!

minho stirs awake from his nap as he feels you climb onto him, your head already head resting on his chest as you wordlessly snuggle in. you’ve draped another blanket over the two of you, the one he fell asleep with still caught between your bodies now. he squints at you just a little, reaching up to pat your head as he slowly processes everything.

“long day?”

you only snuggle in closer to him. “mhm.”

he gets that. he pats your head once more and then wraps his arms around you. “just a short nap,” he mumbles. “then i need to get up. you can nap longer without me, okay?”

“mmhm,” you just shift a little for a final time, pressing your ear firmly against his chest. with a sigh, you relax against him as you listen to his heartbeat. “goodnight, my silly minho.”

another day, he’ll tease you for saying it so early in the day. this time, he just smiles a little to himself and closes his eyes. “goodnight, my silly love.”