* THROUGH MY EYES ( Newjeans )

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

❛ In a quiet moment beneath the shade of an oak tree, you and Hyein discover the depth of your love for each other through a heartfelt drawing that captures the beauty you see in Hyein’s soul, leading to your first tender confessions.

𝐥𝐞𝐞 𝐡𝐲𝐞𝐢𝐧 + female reader ೯ ( 𝐨𝐧𝐞-𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 )

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.9k 𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞: 11 mins

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

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Non-Idol AU, High School AU, insecurities and self-esteem issues, mild anger, brief crying, two school girls in love, let me know if I missed anything!

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

The late afternoon sun lingers low in the sky, casting a warm, honeyed glow over the park. Its golden light filters through the thick canopy of leaves above, creating a dappled pattern that dances gently on the ground beneath the sprawling oak tree where you and Hyein have settled. A soft breeze stirs the branches, carrying with it the fresh scent of grass mingled with the faint sweetness of wildflowers blooming nearby. The air feels alive with the gentle promise of twilight, a perfect blend of warmth and coolness that makes everything seem to slow down, inviting a quiet moment of reflection.

You and Hyein, still in your school uniforms, occupy a well-worn wooden bench that has become your chosen spot for the afternoon. Your bags are carelessly tossed on the ground beside you, forgotten for now. Hyein sits with one leg tucked beneath her, her back resting against the bench’s armrest, giving her posture a laid-back elegance. Her school blouse is slightly untucked, a small rebellion against the neatness expected within classroom walls. The sleeves of her crisp, white shirt are rolled up to her elbows, revealing slender arms that are now comfortably exposed to the cooling air. Her tie hangs loosely around her neck, a simple gesture that hints at the relief of finally being free from the day’s structured demands. Her plaid skirt is carefully smoothed over her legs, creating soft pleats that fall in tidy lines. On her lap, her sketchpad rests, her pencil hovering uncertainly above the paper as she contemplates the self-portrait assigned by your art teacher, her brow furrowed in concentration.

Beside her, you sit close, your own school blazer draped over the back of the bench, as if marking your shared territory. Your sketchbook leans against your knee, pages already filled with faint outlines and shadows as you work on your own portrait. Your tie remains knotted around your neck, though it has shifted slightly askew from the day's wear, giving you a slightly disheveled look. Every so often, your eyes drift from your drawing to Hyein's face, watching the way the sun caresses her features. The light catches the delicate curve of her cheekbones, casting soft shadows that emphasize the natural beauty in her expression. Strands of her hair, gently tousled by the breeze, frame her face in a way that makes her seem almost ethereal, like a subject from an old painting.

Between the two of you rests a small pocket mirror, perched precariously on the bench. It's a shared tool, held between the brief pauses as you both glance into its reflective surface, examining your own faces with analytical intent before returning to the delicate lines of your portraits. The mirror catches the sun at certain angles, sending tiny flecks of light dancing around you, adding to the atmosphere of quiet intimacy.

Around you, the park is alive with the gentle sounds of a late afternoon drifting toward evening. The leaves rustle softly above, their movement creating a soothing, whispering melody. In the distance, the high-pitched laughter of children playing reaches your ears, mingling with the occasional chirp of birds hidden among the branches. Nearby, a small stream gurgles over smooth stones, its waters sparkling under the sun’s fading rays, creating a soft, calming background melody that weaves through the other sounds like a thread of tranquility. Occasionally, a few families or students from your school pass by on the gravel path, but their presence is like a distant hum—momentary and insignificant compared to the bubble of serenity you and Hyein have created around yourselves.

In this golden hour, time seems to stretch and bend, and you find yourselves lost in this quiet corner of the world, where every small detail becomes a story, every breath a shared moment of peace.

Hyein's usual bright expression seems dimmed today, like a cloud passing over the sun. As you sit side by side, sketching in the warm afternoon light, you notice her growing quieter, her brows knitting together in a frown of concentration—or perhaps something deeper. Her pencil hovers uncertainly over the page, and she has been staring at her sketch for what feels like too long. You can't help but watch her from the corner of your eye, a sense of concern tightening in your chest as you pick up on the faint tension in her posture, the way her movements have lost their usual fluidity. It's as if a storm is brewing beneath her surface, and you're close enough to feel its subtle tremors.

Moments pass, and you see the frustration begin to well up within her. Her lips press into a thin line, her grip on the pencil tightening as if she's trying to hold back a wave of emotion. Then, almost without warning, the dam breaks. Her hand moves with a sudden, furious energy, and the once-delicate lines of her sketch are obliterated by harsh, jagged strokes. The pencil becomes a weapon, each slash cutting across the page in a frenzy. The soft contours of what was supposed to be her self-portrait are lost beneath a chaotic lattice of dark, aggressive lines—an explosion of raw emotion laid bare in graphite.

The sound of the pencil's sharp edge scraping against the paper is grating, almost violent. You flinch, startled by the intensity of her actions, the suddenness of her discontent erupting into a crescendo that seems to scar the very essence of her drawing. The erratic marks dig deep into the paper, a physical manifestation of her inner turmoil, each stroke bolder and darker than the last. It's as if she's not just covering the image of her face but trying to erase something deeper—something that words alone cannot touch. Finally, with a sigh that trembles at the edges, she drops the pencil, her shoulders slumping as her eyes lower to the mangled sketch in her lap.

You’ve been watching her with furrowed brows and eyes full of concern, unable to ignore the heaviness settling between you. "Hey, what's wrong? It was looking pretty good!" you offer gently, trying to coax a smile from her, but your words seem to fall flat.

Hyein turns away slightly, her profile guarded, as if shielding herself from your gaze. "I don't know..." she murmurs, so quietly that you have to lean in closer to catch her words. "Sometimes I just feel...I feel like I don't measure up."

Hearing this, you feel a pang in your chest. Setting the pocket mirror that had been resting between you on top of your sketchbook, you shift it all aside to scoot closer to her. Gently, you drape an arm around her shoulders and use your free hand to softly guide her face back toward yours. When you see her eyes brimming with unshed tears, your heart aches, confusion swirling within you as you try to piece together what could be making her feel this way. "Babe," you begin softly, your voice a tender whisper, "What do you mean you feel like you 'don't measure up'? I mean, look at me—I’m no Frida Kahlo. I’m kind of a mess, really. So, there’s no way your self-portrait could be worse than mine."

Your attempt to lighten the mood is met with a small, huffed-out chuckle from her, but her gaze drops again, her fingers fidgeting with her skirt in her lap. "It's not about my obviously superior art skills," she mumbles, a weak smile tugging at her lips. You let out a soft giggle at her attempt at humor, but your face quickly returns to its earlier expression of concern.

Hyein sighs again, the sound almost embarrassed, and her voice becomes quieter, as if she's confessing something she finds foolish. "I just...it’s so stupid, but I feel like I don’t look good...like, at all." She glances away, her words lingering in the space between you, heavy with vulnerability.

You pause, leaning in slightly, trying to catch her eyes and understand the meaning behind her words. "What do you mean?" you ask softly, a hint of confusion threading through your voice. You don’t bother hiding the bewilderment anymore; instead, you gently cup her cheek with your hand, thumb tracing delicate circles over her soft skin, hoping to offer some comfort. Yet, there’s a lingering frustration in the air—your failure to grasp her feelings only seems to add to it.

With a sudden surge of emotion, Hyein pushes your hands away, her touch firm but not harsh, and scoots further down the bench, putting distance between you. She crosses her arms tightly over her chest, her posture defensive. Even in her irritation, you can't help but notice the blush rising to her cheeks, a deep, rosy hue of embarrassment spreading like fire. For a moment, she hesitates, her eyes downcast, her fingers fiddling with the edge of her skirt in a nervous dance. Then, almost as if the words had been yanked out of her, she snaps, "I feel ugly, okay?"

Her voice is sharper than you expected, cutting through the afternoon air like a blade, and it takes you by surprise. You blink, momentarily stunned by the harshness of her tone and the weight of her confession. It’s such a rare thing for her to admit; she’s always been the effortlessly confident girl who caught your eye with her carefree spirit and bright energy—the very things that had drawn you to her and made you fall for her.

But as the initial shock fades, a wave of tenderness washes over you. Your heart swells with affection, and a soft smile tugs at your lips. Without thinking, you scoot closer again, your knee brushing against hers. You reach out with both hands, a light giggle escaping your lips as you gently grasp her face, guiding her closer. You press a firm kiss to her forehead, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath your lips. Then, without pause, you move to her nose, planting another gentle kiss there, before finally capturing her lips in a brief, tender kiss that speaks volumes in its simplicity.

When you pull back, your eyes fluttering open, you’re met with her adorable pout. She glares at you weakly, her irritation still lingering, though softened by the corners of her lips threatening to curve upward. There's a mixture of annoyance and reluctant amusement in her eyes, and you can't help but chuckle softly at the sight, finding an undeniable charm in her reaction.

"Love," you begin, your voice a soft murmur, steady yet filled with a raw earnestness. You pause, searching for the right words, though your gaze never wavers from hers—deep, unwavering, and filled with affection. "I wish you could see what I see...I wish you could feel the way my heart squeezes every single time I look at you."

Without giving her time to respond, you let your hands slide from her cheeks to her shoulders, fingers pressing gently but firmly into her skin as if anchoring her to this moment. Your voice, like a gentle breeze weaving through the leaves overhead, carries the weight of every unsaid thought, every unspoken feeling. "Hyein," you continue, each word a carefully placed step forward, "I don’t think you’d be able to handle what you do to my heart whenever your eyes light up while you talk about the things you love. You wouldn't last a day if your knees buckled the way mine do when I hear your laughter. It’s like a melody that always finds a way to brighten my dullest days, so contagious it lingers in the air long after you stop. If only you could see the way your kindness radiates, the way it makes you shine. Sometimes, it almost convinces me that you must be some kind of angel, not just a girl."

As you speak, you watch her closely, noting the way her eyes begin to shimmer with unshed tears. But this time, they aren't tears of frustration or insecurity—there's a smile blooming there, soft and wide, spreading across her face like the first light of dawn. Your words seem to float between you, almost tangible, as if they could reach out and wrap around her, pulling her into your heart.

Even so, a shadow of doubt lingers on her face, her gaze dropping down, her lips trembling between a smile and something more unsure. You can see she's still caught in that place between believing your words and believing her own inner critic. Without another thought, you decide to show her exactly what you mean.

Reaching for your sketchbook, the pages whisper as they turn, the rustle a soft accompaniment to the tender atmosphere. You flip to a blank page and take a deep breath, feeling a rare determination settle within you. You’ve never been one to put much effort into drawing before, but now, you silently plead with whatever gods might be listening, praying to any divine force in this endless universe for a miracle. Just this once, you beg, let me draw something that captures even a fraction of her beauty.

Without another word, you begin. The pencil moves across the page with a certainty you’ve never felt before, your hand guided by something deeper than skill or practice. As you draw, you start to speak again, narrating each careful stroke, each delicate line. "See here," you say softly, "the way your smile curves—it’s not just about the shape, but the warmth it carries. It’s like a quiet promise, like the sun breaking through the clouds after a storm." You glance at her, catching the way her eyes follow each movement of your hand, her curiosity breaking through the last of her hesitation.

"And the way your eyes crinkle at the corners," you continue, your voice a soft, steady rhythm, "like they’re holding some secret joy. It’s more than just a detail; it’s a glimpse into your soul, into all the light you carry inside you." You shade in a section of the drawing, gesturing gently to the lines. "And the light in your hair here, it catches like it’s framing you, like you’re glowing from within."

As you bring her likeness to life, the world around you seems to hold its breath. The rustling of the leaves in the trees above, the distant laughter of children playing nearby—all of it fades into a soft, distant hum, creating a cocoon of quiet intimacy around the two of you. Hyein’s eyes remain fixed on the sketch, her expression softening, her lips parting slightly as she takes it all in, as if she’s finally beginning to see herself through your eyes.

When you finish, you pause, staring down at the drawing in your hands—a surprisingly good sketch that, despite your usual lack of artistic prowess, manages to capture not just her features but the light within her. It reveals the subtle expressions that make her so uniquely beautiful, the quiet moments that often go unnoticed by anyone but you. It’s more than a likeness; it’s a glimpse of her soul, the way you see her through the lens of your own affection.

Turning the sketchbook around, you hold it out to her like a precious offering, your heart pounding in your chest. Her eyes widen, the uncertainty in them shifting to something softer, something almost vulnerable. She studies the drawing intently, her gaze flicking back and forth between the lines and shades that capture the curve of her smile, the light in her eyes. Then, slowly, her eyes lift to meet yours, searching, as if seeking the truth behind your words.

"This is what Lee Hyein looks like through my eyes," you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper, suddenly shy in the face of your own revelation. You hadn’t realized just how deeply your feelings for her ran until this moment, how much of your heart you’d poured into this drawing. It feels like you’ve handed her a piece of yourself, raw and unfiltered.

For a moment, there is only the soft rustling of leaves above and the distant murmur of the world around you. Then, a small, genuine smile begins to bloom on her lips, delicate and fragile, like the first flower breaking through the snow after a long, cold winter. She leans in closer, her shoulder brushing against yours, warm and familiar. She hesitates, just for a heartbeat, before pressing a tender, electrifying kiss against your cheek.

"I love you," she whispers, her voice trembling with emotion, gratitude, and sincerity, each word weighted with a depth that sends a shiver through you. Your eyes widen slightly, your breath catching in your throat as you realize the significance of her words. This is the first time either of you has said those three sacred words. But Hyein’s expression is steady, unwavering, filled with a quiet certainty.

In that golden hour, under the shade of the old oak tree, time seems to stretch and slow. The world around you softens into a hazy blur of colors and distant sounds, fading away to grant you both this stolen moment of pure, unadulterated connection. It’s as if the universe itself pauses, holding its breath, to witness the spark that ignites between you.

With a surge of bravery, your heart swelling with a newfound courage, you lean in closer, your voice steady and clear despite the wild fluttering in your chest. "I love you, too," you reply, the words falling from your lips like a promise, firm and sure.

And there you sit, side by side, the world reduced to just the two of you. Her head gently comes to rest against your shoulder, and your heartbeats fall into a quiet, rhythmic sync, as if they were always meant to beat in time with each other. In that moment, you both feel like the only two people in the world, wrapped in a warmth that nothing could ever touch.

꒰ 🏷️ ꒱ ミ My permanent taglist is open! (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!

i loved everything about this. each member’s story was so sweet and comforting. i really appreciated you including the different sides to audhd too. most representation of anyone with autism tend to be the monotone, emotionless, expressionless type of characters. it was such a relief and comfort to find the reader be so similar to me.

and thank you so much for junhan’s story. it was exactly what i needed. and i will definitely be rereading it many times during this next week as i try to transition into life back home.

ps. i actually just arrived home not too long ago. thank you for your concerns and support🥰

- 🍀

I’m so happy my ideas translated well! But yes, every time I get excited to have AuDHD representation, it immediately turns into disappointment for those exact reasons. I’m genuinely so tired of this stereotype that people have that we’re some emotionless, selfish brats when that’s usually not the case! Just because our way of expressing ourselves is a little different doesn’t mean that we’re emotionally immature 😤 I have autism and I have ADHD, but I also feel very deeply.

I thought of you the whole time I was writing Junhan’s piece 🫶 Thinking about the future as if it was a romance movie or story is a technique I use a lot when I’m about to face a big change in my life, so I hoped it’d work for you as well. There’s something so beautiful about romanticizing your life as a way to soothe yourself, I think, and it more often than not helps me calm down before having a panic attack.

I’m glad you’ve arrived safely! This means that you’re at the unpacking part of moving, you’re almost done!

hey! can i request you and ot8 skz kissing in front of the other members?

Hey Anon! Thank you so much for this very sweet request! It was so much fun to write it, and I hope I delivered well! You're more than welcome to make more requests if you wish to 🫶── ( 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐲 𝐤𝐢𝐝𝐬 )

────* ˚ ✦ CAUGHT IN THE ACT (HYUNG LINE | MAKNAE LINE)

( 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 ) ( 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 & 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ) ( 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ) ( 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 ) 15.6K

hiii i adored the caught in the act piece! all the situations seemed so organic and realistic, your writing is so good, share a crumb of talent with the rest of us pls 🤲🤲

(btw just wanted to let you know that in caught in the act you misspelled jeongins name in the title part of his section <33)

Hello! Thank you so much 🥹 Here are some crumbs, hold on 🫳✨

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR LETTING ME KNOW 😭 I promise I proofread it, but I guess I didn’t bother to check their names 💀

──── * ˚ ✦ 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!

2O24 HALLOWEEN EVENT

Thank you to all 467 people who voted! As promised, here are the results of your votes — all of the groups that ended up having 10% or more votes will have bigger/longer pieces that will be posted throughout the month of October! The other groups that had lower votes will maybe have some shorter, more simple pieces posted (feel free to make some spooky requests for them!). Please give this lots of love!

STRAY KIDS ──── THE OTHER HIM

SUMMARY: After a mysterious fire destroys your husband Minho's dance studio, you bring him home from the hospital, hoping for a fresh start. However, you soon begin to notice small but unsettling changes in his behavior. Initially, you dismiss these as signs of his recovery from the traumatic event or perhaps just your mind playing tricks on you. Yet, with each passing day, the feeling grows stronger that the man you brought back from the hospital isn’t truly your husband—even though he wears his face.

RELEASE DATE: O1 OCTOBER

PAIRING: Lee Minho + Female Reader

CONTENT WARNINGS: Non-Idol AU, imposter horror, psychological horror, fire, mild burn injuries, gaslighting and manipulation, trauma, violence, injury, mild gore, more to be added.

TAGLIST: OPEN

TEASER COMING SOON

ATEEZ ──── THE NIGHT SHIFT

SUMMARY: During a night shift at an understaffed morgue, you encounter the eerie and inexplicable movements of a corpse bound by a failed ritual, unraveling a dark mystery of death and supernatural forces while alone with the unsettling remains of Kim Hongjoong.

RELEASE DATE: O8 OCTOBER

PAIRING: Choi Jongho + Female Reader

CONTENT WARNINGS: MDNI, Non-Idol AU, explicit sexual content, friends with benefits trope, mutual pining, semi-public sex, protected sex, piv, light spanking, mirror kink, mentions of having one drink, supernatural horror elements, death and corpse imagery, violence, dark themes, psychological horror, disturbing sounds and visuals, mild gore, more to be added.

TAGLIST: OPEN

TEASER COMING SOON

NEWJEANS ──── THE DEVIL’S BARGAIN

SUMMARY: At a Halloween party, you and your friends decided to use an old Ouija board for fun, not expecting anything serious. However, things took a terrifying turn when Hanni, one of your friends, began convulsing and speaking in a deep, guttural voice. Possessed, Hanni started revealing unsettling secrets about each of you, exposing your deepest fears and hidden betrayals. As the night unfolded, you realized you had accidentally summoned a demon that thrived on your guilt and despair, turning your playful game into a night of fear and revelation.

RELEASE DATE: 15 OCTOBER

PAIRING: Kim Minji + Female Reader

CONTENT WARNINGS: Non-Idol AU, supernatural possession, disturbing themes, descriptions of fear and anxiety, guilt and betrayal, violence, more to be added.

TAGLIST: OPEN

TEASER COMING SOON

ENHYPEN ──── THE GAME MASTER

SUMMARY: You and your group of friends receive an anonymous invitation to play an immersive escape room game in an abandoned mansion. The host, calling himself “The Game Master,” promises a grand reward for the winner. However, once inside, the challenges quickly turn sinister, exploiting each of your deepest fears and darkest secrets.

RELEASE DATE: 22 OCTOBER

PAIRING: Sim Jake + Female Reader

CONTENT WARNINGS: Non-Idol AU, psychological horror, mentions of past death, trauma, gore, violence, dark themes, more to be added.

TAGLIST: OPEN

TEASER COMING SOON

P1HARMONY ──── KNOCK KNOCK

SUMMARY: On Halloween night, while you’re hosting a party with your boyfriend and friends, a group of children in strange, vintage masks knock on the door of your home. They ask to come in, claiming they are “the original owners.” You dismiss it as a prank until the children return every hour, each time more insistent and increasingly disturbing.

RELEASE DATE: 29 OCTOBER

PAIRING: Hwang Intak + Female Reader

CONTENT WARNINGS: MDNI, Non-Idol AU, established relationship, explicit sexual content, protected sex, piv, light choking, dirty talk, disturbing imagery, paranormal elements, psychological horror, demonic horror, more to be added.

TAGLIST: OPEN

TEASER COMING SOON