Stray Kids Fanfiction - Blog Posts

‧₊ a little bit sweeter - (roommate!han jisung x reader) ˚‧

pairing: college roommate!han jisung x reader

summary: jisung realises that he feels something more for his roommate who loves to bake.

genre: college!au, mentions of eating and drinking, slightly suggestive ? kissing, jisung being a whole simp for reader, one sus joke, making cookies (bc i'm craving them so bad rn)

a/n: hihi~ inspired by this post, so i'm tagging @butteredsushi and @jisunggy thanks for the fic inspo guys <3 div by @kodaswrld

skz masterlist

"Whatcha doing?"

You look up just as Jisung, your roommate, enters the kitchen, no doubt drawn by the clattering noises that you've filled the flat with. He hops up on the counter, peeking behind you in interest, where you've set a heap of bowls and pans onto the countertop.

"Just wanted to make something," you exhale, poking his cheek before moving to find the bowl you're looking for. Jisung hums and sits back on the counter, leaning on his hands as he watches you clumsily sift through the pile, muttering to yourself.

"Do I get to eat whatever it is that you're making?" He asks carefully, secretly crossing his fingers in a hope you'll say yes.

You huff and stand up from where you've been bending and peering into the cabinets. "Ji, we literally live together."

"Yeah, but like, were you planning to eat it all by yourself?"

You laugh, gesturing for him to open the cupboard directly below his feet, which he does. "Maybe, but we both know you would have eaten most of it. Do you want to eat something specific?"

"Cookies," he says instantly, not hesitating. His cheeks flush pink.

You roll your eyes, taking out a spoon. "Should've known."

Jisung throws his hands up defensively. "What? They're good for days like this, with the weather how it is right now. Be for real."

He has a point, you think as you look out the window.

It's drizzling in a fine swell over what you can see of the city, a heavy, almost blue fog casting itself like a blanket over the buildings. Classes ended early today, and you'd wanted nothing more to rush back to your dorm and rid yourself of the soaked, cold clothes you'd had to be in all morning.

To say the least, it had been extremely unpleasant weather, and it had taken at least an hour standing under the steaming water of the shower to try and bring your body's temperature up again.

You shiver as your eyes flicker over to the door, your still-wet shoes leaking droplets of storm water onto the plastic bag you'd set them upon in an attempt to keep the floor dry. Jisung was already back from his lecture by the time you got in, and he hadn't even looked up as you'd rushed into your room and slammed the door, soaking wet and chattering as you turned the water on.

At least, you think he hadn't looked up at you. In reality, he'd been waiting for the moment the door would open and you would come in.

But you didn't notice. You never do.

You set two more bowls onto the counter, missing the way Jisung's eyes follow yours as you move across the floor, gaze fixed on the way your hair is still drying, hanging in little damp clusters over your ears and nape. Your cheeks are flushed, most likely from the boiling water you shower in, and your figure is swamped in an oversized hoodie and a pair of grey sweats. His heart jolts as he looks you up and down, trying to fight that warm feeling that seems to rise in his chest every time he meets your gaze.

I have a hoodie that looks almost the same... it looks like you're wearing my clothes. That'd be so hot...

"...and then I had to rush all the way back here because it was so cold and rainy outside. You have a point, to be honest; I was thinking about eating something warm and delicious when I got back, but I wanted something a little bit sweeter- Ji. Ji, are you listening?"

"H-huh?" He shakes his head, thoughts of you in his clothes hastily evaporating. "Uh, yeah."

You point a measuring cup at him cheekily. "Liar. What's wrong? Are you too hot? I can turn the thermostat down if you want... I turned it up super high when I got back because it was so cold-"

"N-no, it's okay," he interrupts. "Sorry. Just a long morning. Classes and all that."

You shoot him a sympathetic look, opening a packet of self-raising flour. "Yeah, I get that. Poor you... And all this rain, too... not really ideal for all the walking we have to do nowadays."

Jisung can't help but smile softly at your rambling, holding the edge of the bowl as you almost knock it off the countertop. Your measuring spoon gets bumped in the process and a small puff of flour spills onto Jisung's knee, dusting the loose, black denim.

"Oops," you say sheepishly, setting the cup down. "Sorry."

He's about to reply and tell you it's okay before his gaze flits down to your hand, which is gently brushing off his knee. And suddenly, he can't seem to focus on anything but your touch. It's warm, even through the thick fabric, and he finds himself wishing you'd bumped the measuring cup a little harder so you could be brushing off all the flour for longer, your fingers gentle against his leg.

He doesn't even mind that there's a subtle white patch on the denim where it spilt.

You scratch the back of your head. "Hang on, let me get a paper towel-"

"No, don't worry," he blurts out. "I-it's fine."

You look up in surprise, tapping another cupful of flour into the bowl before adding a haphazard mix of baking soda, salt, and cornstarch over it. "Are you sure? I'm gonna make a mess in this place. I don't want your clothes to get dirty..."

"It's fine," he says again, a little more confidently. "I can just take them off."

You splutter, sending a puff of flour into the air, making both of you cough as Jisung waves his hands frantically, cheeks scarlet.

"I-i didn't mean it like that," he coughs, flustered. "I meant-"

"I know what you meant," you say, fighting a grin as you turn away to open the fridge. "Honestly, Ji."

He drops his face into his hands just as you crack two eggs into another bowl, heading back to the fridge for the stick of half-finished butter on the top shelf. You've learnt to buy more butter than you think you need; your roommate has a habit of using far too much butter than necessary on his toast. Not that your topping habits are much better; the Nutella jar is usually empty after a day.

Anyways.

Placing the rest of the butter in a small glass bowl, you set the microwave timer for 30 seconds before closing the door. Jisung's eyes follow the bowl spinning round and round inside, the butter seeping and melting into an oily mess against the glass edges.

His fingers tap against the countertop as you move your bowls over to where he's sitting, your shoulder brushing his arm as you busy yourself with tipping brown and granulated sugar into yet another bowl. Jisung cheekily dips his finger into the mixture and brings it to his mouth as you smack his hand away, relishing the raw, saccharine taste of the grains.

"You have to stop doing that.. Ew, Ji!"

He wipes his finger nonchalantly on your arm, much to your disgust. Ignoring your groans, he hums to himself as you take the melted butter from the microwave, slamming the door shut again.

"Stop doing what?" He says innocently.

"Dipping your little thieving paws into the bowls... you'll contaminate it. And wiping said paws on my arm..."

"So?" He says, grinning, ears still red from his earlier comment. "It's not like anyone else but you and me are eating the stuff you make."

You huff and tip the butter into the bowl, spilling half of it in the process. "I'm gonna put raisins in these if you keep provoking me."

"No!"

"Shut up and stop bothering me then," you huff, one hand coming up to matter-of-factly wipe a tiny speckle of sugar from the corner of his lip.

He's about to make a comment, but he goes silent; his face turns the colour of the cherry tomatoes in the fridge crisper as you whisk the butter into the sugar mixture. You don't even notice how quiet he's gone, and as a habit, begin to ramble.

"I can't believe the mixer broke," you say absentmindedly. "I had to search for ages and ages for a recipe that didn't need a mixer for the process. It's actually so much easier to melt the butter too... last time I did this, I didn't mix it all in properly so the cookies tasted horrible after- not that you cared, of course, because I came back to the glass dish where I put them in a day before and they were all gone- Ji, you're not listening again."

"Yes I am," he says, strained. His face is red.

"No you're not. Anyways, I had to find substitutes for most of the ingredients until I could get to the store last week.."

You run off on yet another tangent about the recipe and different methods of baking and flavours, but all Jisung can focus on is the fact that you just touched his lip, wiped away whatever it was that what on his mouth, without so much as blinking. Like it was nothing... He finds himself beginning to panic a little; his face still feels all hot and tingly.

They just wiped my mouth for me... Wait, isn't that what couples do in the movies?? Does that mean.. no, it doesn't, because they didn't even blink when they did it. There's no way they feel the way I do right now, like this- is it hot in here? My face feels so warm...

He's about to lift the neckline of his hoodie to try and fan some air into his body, but not before something sweet-smelling and textured lands on the apple of his cheekbone.

He freezes, watching as you dip a finger into a bowl full of white paste. Frosting.

You know Jisung likes frosting on his cookies; it's a fact he hasn't even told you, but you know from the way he always secretly opens the tub of ready-made icing in the fridge that he likes them to be eaten that way. You always make a bowl of it whenever you bake now, just for him. Currently, you can't get over the look on his face; shocked, and almost distant, like he was distracted by something.

You managed to crack the eggs, mix all the ingredients together, add chocolate chips to the mixture, form the dough into balls, and put it all into the oven without him making so much as a comment. And then slightly warm up the icing too. He's never been this quiet.

Like, ever.

"Are you okay?" You smile. "You look a million miles away."

He gulps and watches as you dip a different finger into the icing, some of it remaining on your lip as you lick your fingertip clean. He can feel the tiny dollop of frosting you've dotted on his cheek. It's probably melting with how hot his face feels.

His gaze never leaves your mouth, and his eyes flit to the mess you've made of the counter; there's not a single ingredient you haven't managed to spill a quantity of. Most of it is staining your clothes too, not that you seem to care.

Y/n...

"Ji?" You wave a hand in front of his face, trying to rid him of the glazed look in his eyes. "What's wrong?"

Silence. Then-

"You look so beautiful," he murmurs.

It slips out so unexpectedly that he can't even bring himself to be surprised or regretful about it; if he never tells you, you'll never know how stunning you look in the moment, all damp hair and flour-smeared cheeks.

And maybe you don't look lovely to anyone else, but to Jisung, he's never seen anything more beautiful. And in a moment of instant clarity, he knows he's regret it forever if he doesn't tell you how he's felt for so long. Or worse, if someone else decides to tell you the same thing, and he never gets his chance...

You blink at the unexpected sentiment, not thinking much of it. "Thanks."

Turning away, you pick up a bowl and deposit it in the sink before Jisung pulls you back by the shoulder, you tumbling between his legs from where he's still sitting on the counter.

You don't even get a moment to process what's happening before his mouth is pressed gently against yours, tasting of sweet icing and brown sugar.

You mold yourself immediately into his embrace as his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you a little closer as his head tilts to the left. You're pretty sure he's almost breaking his neck, kissing you like this, but you couldn't care less, and it seems, neither can he.

"Jisung," you exhale against his lips, almost gasping.

"Sorry," he whispers, though there's a hint of cheekiness behind it that he can't quite disguise. "Should've asked to kiss you..."

You giggle and pull him in again, your hands finding their way to his nape, playing with the tiny, soft hairs there before he pulls back to gaze at you. "It's okay."

He looks too far gone now; his hair is deliciously rumpled from you running your fingers every which way through it, his cheeks still stained pink. The frosting on his cheek is smeared, a long, pale streak against the perfect planes of his skin.

You're about to pull him in again, and his mouth eagerly moves towards yours, but he only gets a light brush against your lips before the oven timer rudely interrupts, beeping and echoing in the silence of the flat. He groans as you turn away and reach across to switch it off.

You hear Jisung laugh breathlessly behind you as you peer through the oven glass; the cookies, once round and perfect, have now spread into a chocolatey mess across the baking tray, and you can see several small bits of dough beginning to burn dark against the hot surface of the oven grilles.

"Shit," you mumble as Jisung pulls you back into him, peppering kisses over your face. "I forgot to chill the dough before I put them in..."

"Screw that," he sighs against you. "We should chill instead. Just us, hmm? Cancel whatever plans you had..."

"Done," you whisper. "But what about the cookies-"

Jisung pulls you impossibly closer, his breath a warm fan across your cheeks and neck.

"Forget that," he murmurs. "I have something sweeter."

a/n: i forgot how fun writing jisung is >< asks open !

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hiii baby!!! I love your work and this is like my first request I’ve sent to anyone at all 😭 but could you do 28 and 7 for Minho ^^ tysm!!

hihi cutie~ i've actually had both of these prompts before so i got better at writing them hehe. also amogus divider bc why tf not

keychain - bf!lee minho x reader

pairing: bf!lee know x reader

summary: you fight with minho and he comes back to make things right.

genre: non-idol! au, pretty angst, soonie doongie dori honourable mention, comfort, fluffy ending, soft minho

a/n: so i started listening to lana del rey and i wrote this to 'sad girl' also div by @si-eunnis

⛓️ prompts: 7. "I'm glad you're here." / 28. "You're looking at me like that again."

skz prompt list | skz masterlist

You toss another dirty tissue across the countertop, sniffing as you watch it come to rest at the very edge, teetering. Leaning your cheek against the cold, marbled surface, you sigh and let the sharp feeling seep through your pores like iced water.

It does little to soothe the current puffy redness of your cheeks; how long have you been sitting here, crying? The golden hanging lights that frame the kitchen have made your hair warm to the touch, their beams caressing the messy state of it, and your back feels numb and achy from the awkward position you've been slumped in since Minho stormed out of the apartment. You sigh.

You don't even remember what you were fighting about.

Each exhale feels like it's been punched out of you as you relive the events of the past hour; him coming home, both of you tired and irritable, and then fighting over the pettiest thing that you don't even remember anymore.

Then he left.

You're not sure if he's coming back; he didn't take anything but his phone, which had been in his pocket as soon as he came in, and his work bag, which is still smashed against the wall where he'd dropped it with a sigh on coming home.

You can't fight a weak smile at the habit; you've installed multiple hooks along the wall so he can hang his bag up when he gets home, but every time you did, he'd always just drop it on the floor anyway, kicking off his shoes at the door.

And you'd smile and gesture at the hooks, but he'd just ignore them, kissing your fed-up expression off your face with a gentle mouth and squeezing your shoulder with a warm, solid hand.

The way he always does.

You look at those hooks now; one of the cats' collars is hanging off them, and several other items like hair ties and rings of keys adorn the others. You came into the kitchen one day and saw Minho hanging a cat toy from the hook nearest to the door so that, when he wasn't home, the cats would be able to play. Dori sits there now, batting with fluffy white paws at the feathers and bells on the string.

Ding, ding. Ding.

You're not sure why you're thinking of such things; surely anyone in your current situation would incessantly cry their eyes out, wailing at the mistake of fighting with their partner, instead of thinking about plastic wall hooks and under-stimulated cats.

You're so distracted that you don't even notice the apartment door open again, so slowly that it takes about half a minute for Minho to actually step inside.

He's soaked.

The smell of the night rain that he brings with him is suddenly so prominent inside the still air of the apartment that it's what makes you look up.

"Minho," you whisper, eyes red and puffy. You scrub a hand across your face, the skin stinging at the harsh treatment. You hadn't even heard the rain outside.

He doesn't look at you, just takes off his shoes, very deliberately. There's a little puddle of rainwater around his feet and you fight back an exhale as his socked feet meet the wet tiles. Dori immediately goes to nuzzle against his legs and then hisses at the unpleasant wetness of his owner's legs.

But Minho doesn't seem to notice, simply taking off layers until he's stood in his slacks and white work shirt, which is the only dry item of clothing he has on. He drops the rest of his clothes in a pile.

His eyes finally lift themselves to meet yours; the warmth in them is gone, replaced by something unreadable. A dull, heavy feeling settles in your gut, a sense of finality washing over your being. You know this is the moment that he'll say he wants to leave, that he just can't find it in himself to love you. He'll go to your shared room and start packing a suitcase, and take the cats with him, all while you wail and tug at his arms for him not to leave, please, Minho, don't leave-

"I'm sorry," he whispers.

Your gaze flits to his. Your voice is croaky, cracked, saturated with sadness. "What?"

He steps forward, ignoring the insistent mewing of Soonie and Doongie, who have just come into the room. "I'm sorry. I should have just left to clear my head and then came back, but I've been gone half the night."

You blink and look through tired eyes to the clock on the wall. It takes you a couple seconds to process the time. It's 1 am. Minho came home at 9 pm. You don't even know how many hours that is.

"How long were you walking in the rain?" You say, still whispering lest you scare him off again.

He shrugs. His mouth opens, like he wants to say something, but he's hesitant, like he's not sure how it will be received.

He speaks anyway. "I stalled for a while. I didn't know if you'd be here when I came back..." His fingers twist in the slightly damp material of his white shirt, fidgeting.

Your indignance suddenly takes over your upset state and you sit up straighter. "I would have waited all night for you, Minho. I wasn't going to leave..."

"I know," he says solemnly, and then quietly, "I'm glad you're here."

You nod and slowly slide off the chair you've been slumped in, disturbing a few of the tissues scattered across the countertop. "I'm sorry too, Min. I shouldn't have kept the argument going."

He shakes his head. "We were both tired. It happens."

You both stand in silence for a minute, neither one of you sure how to continue the conversation. It's almost awkward until Minho steps forward, taking out something from his pocket. He shyly holds it out.

You take a small step forward and take the small item from him. Unfolding your fingers from around it, you blink through unshed tears to see a small keychain resting in the palm of your hand. It's a little cat with its mouth open, its fur pattern like Soonie's, but grey instead of ginger. There's another attachment of a pink peach, and the clip keyring attachment is shaped like a heart.

You look up at Minho. His face is red. You remember suddenly that he's quite shy when it comes to giving things to people, and you can't fight the urge to throw yourself into his arms.

This little keychain is Minho's apology.

His skin is cold, damp from the rain, and the collar of his shirt is wet from the rain, but you hold him close anyway. You wrap your arms around his middle, squeezing your eyes shut. He's almost fetched up against the wall from how hard you threw yourself at him, but his arms find their familiar place around your shoulders.

You pull back slightly, gazing up at him. As if he wasn't soaked enough, your tears have left two patches on his chest, but he doesn't seem to mind.

"You're looking at me like that again." Minho says quietly.

You hum, a tear spilling down your cheek. "Looking at you like what?"

You see his throat bob, swallow hard. You can feel the constant thrum of his heart through the damp fabric of his shirt.

Minho gulps. "You always look at me like than when- when-"

"When I say I love you?" You finish for him.

Minho nods inaudibly, the movement of his head so small you almost don't see it at all. You smile, tilting your head at him, the tears beginning to slow.

You both stand there for who knows how long, clinging to each other, trapping between your bodies the smell of rain and fade cologne. Finally, Minho talks.

"I love you too."

a/n: this was way too long

hello hello sweetheart <3

i heard requests are open and i just really needed a comfort fic with minho? i had a dance production recently. one that was really important to me but my old knee and thigh injury acted up last minute and i physically winced in the middle of my performance. people say they didn't notice it but i did and i just feel like absolute shit over it. maybe minho being a dancer comforting reader about it? i'm sorry this is specific but you write comfort incredibly well. i hope you're keeping well ❤️‍🩹

hello <3 oh no, hope you're okay and the injury isn't acting up too much... i'm sure you were great, sho. sometimes we have a way of beating ourselves up for things that people don't even notice. nevertheless, try not to be too hard on yourself, and take care of your body <3

you did well - dancer!lee minho x dancer!reader

pairing: dancer!lee minho x dancer!reader

summary: you make a mistake during a dance performance and minho comforts you.

genre: angsty, mentions of an old injury acting up, crying, dancer!au, fluffy at the end

a/n: sending love to all my dancer readers. divider by @draculasdaughterrr

You sit down and press a hand to your beating heart. The plastic of the blue chair is cold beneath your thighs and you inhale deeply, trying to still the racing thrum pulsing inside of you.

Looking up, you catch eyes with yourself in the reflection of the wide stylist mirror. In your current state, you're finding it difficult to recognise yourself; all dressed up for the production, two dilated eyes set into a pale face staring back at you.

This is beyond important.

Everything needs to go well, and you find yourself so restless that you get up and begin quietly rehearsing your steps. A hand goes to your leg; you find yourself wondering if the injury will decide to play up during the performance. It has before, and it's never ended well.

But it might not happen this time, you remind yourself firmly, and move into your start position.

There's still half an hour to go, and the dressing room is empty while you rehearse, everyone instead choosing to filter into the wings of the stage to peek out over the audience. Occasionally, someone comes in while you dance by yourself; a dancer who forgot their shoes, or a stylist who came to pick up their set of eyeshadow brushes.

But you ignore them and focus wholly on repeating the steps over and over, and when the time comes to head backstage with the other dancers in your section of the performance, you feel ready.

The excited, glittery buzz coming from everyone in the production quiets as the event officially starts. You wait and watch, preparing to head onstage. You watch the others dancing and notice Minho amongst them, a fellow dancer and friend; you're surprised as you hadn't realised he was helping start the dance off. You'd assumed his part was mainly the middle section, but apparently not.

You allow yourself the brief luxury of watching him for a while; you anticipate every one of his steps, and watch how the gems sewn into the shoulders of his top catch the light, making him look as if he's glowing.

"Y/n," someone whispers behind you. "Come on, we're supposed to be filling in the background. Stop staring at your lover and move."

"He's not my lover," you hiss, but you move anyway, filtering into the background with the other members. The light of the stage hits you suddenly; you float to the right, as the routine goes, and feel the heat of its glare pressing against your skin.

Your heart begins to speed up and then slow as you find yourself becoming more comfortable on stage. You remember every step, executing the moves with a seamless perfection, twisting and turning and jumping on beat every time. A little bubble of joy floats up inside of you and settles happily in your stomach, the way it always does when you dance.

You keep a watchful eye on the front dancers, as they hold your cue for moving to the front. Your solo comes directly after they begin to part down the middle. The first dancer at the front moves, then the second, then the third, and by then you're already moving confidently to begin your solo.

Your heart pounds suddenly as you feel the audience's concentrated gaze on you, but you calmly inhale and focus on your steps, choosing to periodically close your eyes to help refocus. You're not as nervous as you used to be, but there's always that little bundle of nerves that decides to unravel in the middle of a routine.

You exhale and channel all the force from your knees, perfectly completing the first part of your jump combination. You feel a sudden, sharp pain in your knee and your heart rises up, a sick feeling popping the happy bubble in your stomach. Because you know exactly what that pain is.

You spin and continue anyway, choosing to balance the weight on your other leg. Channeling all the energy from your legs, you jump and complete the second jump, but as you land, a terrible searing pain shoots through your leg and you physically wince, your knees almost buckling.

Hissing quietly, you keep dancing and finish your solo, moving towards the back of the stage, where your position is for the finale. You dance as much as you can without overexerting and quickly get into position, dropping to your knees and stretching to the left, the music swelling and then dropping. The audience's applause is deafening but all you can focus on is the sharp stinging pain radiating through your leg and the feeling of failure sitting heavy in your gut like lead. You bite your lip, trying to hold back tears, and strain, holding your position before the dancers at the front begin to get up.

You don't even stay to bow. Hurrying off stage, you limp to the nearest dressing room and slump against a bench, clutching your leg. The pain begins to dwindle after a while and you exhale through your teeth, feeling hot tears spill down your cheeks.

You ruined it. After all that practice, you just had to go and ruin it by wincing in front of everyone. And they all saw it. The audience is probably whispering about it right now.

You hastily scrub tears off your cheekbones as someone opens the door. A large brown eye peeks through hesitantly, followed by a glittering string of diamonds sewn into two broad shoulders.

Minho steps into the dressing room and shuts the door carefully before turning around. There are costumes and various dancer paraphernalia strewn chaotically across the floor, and you watch with a weak smile as he begins to navigate through the mess with a typical dancer's precision. Through your haze of tears and the still-dwindling pain in your leg, you can't help but notice the fact that he's here, that he knew where you were even after you ran off. He must have followed you off stage.

He sits down next to you, adjusting himself against the bench, and folds his legs neatly across each other. He wraps his arms around his legs and thoughtfully traces a diamond on his left shoulder.

"Are you in pain?" He says quietly, not looking at you.

You shake your head, a heavy sigh escaping you as you fully process the absolute mess you made of your solo.

Minho hums and turns to look at you finally. He tilts his head and nudges you ever so gently. You go sideways, just managing to catch yourself with your hand. But you don't mind. To Minho, it's a companiable gesture, the gentle nudge, but he forgets his own considerable strength sometimes.

You sigh again and Minho exhales too. You notice his chest is still rising and falling, rising and falling. He's probably still coming down from the dancer's high. Either that or he's tired.

"You did well, you know," he says, even quieter than before.

You sniff and scrub a hand over your cheekbones again. "It's not that."

"Oh? Then what?"

You fall against the bench, exhaling shakily. "I winced during the jump and everyone saw it. My injury acted up."

Minho blinks. "I was watching you and I didn't see anything. Looked good to me."

Your eyes go wide. That's a big compliment coming from him. But it doesn't lift your spirits the way you imagined it would.

He turns his body to face you. "It's okay, Y/n. Things happen. But you were professional about it and pushed through. You still did your best, and that's all you need to do. I really don't think anyone noticed."

You feel another tear run down your cheek. "But what if they did notice?"

"So?" He says rather bluntly.

You turn to face him, but you're met with the feeling of soft, musky fabric against your cheek. Minho's arm wraps around your shoulders and you exhale, relaxing against his chest. You feel him shift the fabric a little higher so that the diamonds on his shoulders don't rest against your forehead.

"Don't worry," Minho says gently. "You did well, Y/n."

You feel another tear run down your cheek as he pulls back. Your tears look like cracked slivers of crystal against the puffiness of your eyes and you sniff as Minho brushes them away with a thumb.

"Thank you, Min," you say almost inaudibly.

He strokes your hair and then gets up, offering you a hand. He grins, but it's not unkind, rather reassuring and quietly caring. "Let's go and get you an icepack."

You take his hand and stand up.

a/n: feel better sho !

rose part 2 - lee minho

pairing: lee minho x reader

summary: you and lee minho, the smartest student on campus, get unexpectedly paired up to work on an assignment

genre: less angsty, mutual pining, college!au, happy ending hehe

a/n: yayy part 2. dividers by @kodaswrld

⛓️ prompts: 17. "Why are you looking at me like that?" / 28. "You're looking at me like that again."

skz prompt list | skz masterlist | part 1

The next few days are rather awkward.

You avoid Minho as much as humanly possible; more than once he tries to approach you in the corridors, though unsurely, and you find yourself ducking into the next hallway or stopping to talk to someone so that he won't.

Not that you don't want him to approach. Part of you misses talking to him, though most of what came out of his mouth was teasing remarks and judgmental comments. But he does it in a way that lets you know he doesn't mean it.

You know he doesn't mean it, but after you messed up those few days ago, you're beginning to wonder if he might in the future.

You find yourself glancing his way during lectures, subconsciously reaching for your phone to text him before you take control of yourself and tear your gaze away, shove your phone into a drawer. Keeping distance is the best thing to do right now, even if you do miss him.

But still...

Minho and his pretty necklace, his pretty lopsided smile, although it's rare. But it makes it all the more special. It makes him all the more special.

The part of you yearning to see him wonders if there's a slim chance that he reciprocates what you've begun to find yourself feeling, and it tells you to go and find Minho, talk to him, work things out. Maybe you could play it off, say you were on something, plead that you were tired or that there had just been something on his face.

Which is why you had touched it in the first place, though it was on a whim. You'd stroked those precious few strands out of his eyes, touched his pretty mouth on a whim, your fingers brushing against the perfect mask that Lee Minho never lets slip.

The professor calls your name suddenly and you shoot upright, having previously been slouching on your hand, staring down the rows of lecture seats. He shouts out a question and panic seizes your gut like a vice.

"Y/n, what's the answer to question eight?"

Your eyes flit over the screen at the front; you haven't been listening and none of it makes sense. Your mouth opens but nothing comes out, and you feel the gazes of other people becoming more prominent by the minute.

Your gaze catches Minho's by chance; he's sitting at the very front of the lecture hall as per usual, all of his materials lined up meticulously neat on the desks. He mouths an answer to you, subtly holding up three fingers.

"Option three," you blurt out. It must be the right answer because the professor turns away, moving onto the next question. You sag back into your seat with relief.

Minho is still looking at you.

You steal a glance at him again, hoping that he's not looking, but he is. You make to look away in haste but not before you see him point to his notebook, gesturing to you and then back at his book.

Staring down at your own folders and papers, you take your black notebook from under the haphazard mess and flip through it. Minho turns back to the front just as a slip of paper falls from between the pages.

You unfold it. Minho's neat, looping handwriting inks the paper in blue.

Meet me at the library at five o clock.

Absolutely not, you think. You toss the paper onto your desk and lean back. There's no way you're going. You might just come up with an excuse and relay it to someone so you don't have to show up. You look back down at Minho's note. It's fallen the other way and there's writing on the other side. You peer closer.

And don't even think about disappearing or making up an excuse. Come on, Y/n. You're not that busy a person.

You roll your eyes, even though you're smiling. He knows, and the realisation doesn't hit you as hard in the gut as you thought it would have.

Five o clock it is.

☆☆☆

When you enter the library, you know exactly where to go; Minho's usual spot is always the far corner, several long tables and chairs tucked behind the shelves. As someone who spends a lot of time in the library to begin with, you've often seen Minho by himself at one of the long tables, with his knees tucked neatly over one another as he reads, or his head bent in concentration as he studies.

You make your way there now; and sure enough, there he is. He's sitting perfectly upright, his posture immaculate. Your back hurts just thinking about sitting the way he does.

Yet again, the only movement is coming from his wrist as he writes something in his books, just like he did when you were at his dorm. He doesn't look up as you approach, hovering near the table unsurely. Like he's a wild animal to be tamed.

He is a little bit, you think.

"Minho..." You begin hesitantly, if not only to announce your presence.

"Hello, Y/n," he says quietly. He sets his pen down in one movement and looks up at you. Like he doesn't have energy to spare, so he's mindful of every move. "Sit down."

You laugh nervously as you collapse into a chair near him, one seat away from where he is. You are a walking tornado in the pristine museum that is Lee Minho.

"So, what is this, a therapy session?" You tilt your head at him, trying to break this ice. Shit, this is so awkward.

"No," he says again, matter-of-factly. "You've been avoiding me."

"I haven't," you try feebly.

"All you do is lie, Y/n. To yourself too. Stop it."

His comment cuts you unexpectedly.

It hurts even more because he's right. You lied to him and to yourself. You told yourself that avoiding him was the best thing to do. And in addition, suddenly you're irritated and pissed off because of how calm he is.

"Minho."

His tone softens. "Sorry."

You huff and lean back. It feels like when you were a kid, getting into trouble for talking back.

"Why'd you call me here? You've finished your section of the project, so there's no need for us to work together anymore."

Minho shakes his head. "That's not why I asked you here."

You're quiet. Then, "Why?"

"Y/n, I'm not upset about what happened. It seems you are."

He's talking like a fucking therapist, you think. "I didn't mean to touch you like that, it was just on a whim, I was overtired-"

Minho laughs suddenly, his eyes crinkling. It's a surprisingly pleasant sound. "Did you rehearse that excuse?"

You grumble and attempt to wipe the haughty smile off of your face. He's seeing right through you at every turn. "No."

"Well, does being overtired make people want to be close to each other and touch each others' faces?"

You scoff at him, though your heart is pounding. "No. Stop being stupid."

"I'm not stupid. I'm incredibly smart. And I'm right."

"Sure you are, Min."

You freeze. The nickname slips out almost on habit; countless times during the duration of previous project meetings had you called him that purely to irritate him. At first it was a tease. Now it was almost affectionate.

His usual ticked-off reply doesn't come. He looks at you strangely. Then with a slow, deliberate movement, he gets up and sits down in the chair directly next to you. Several of his papers and pens clatter and drift off the table, but he doesn't flinch, nor notice. He doesn't even blink, his gaze entirely, unbrokenly fixed on you.

You gulp.

"I've had a long day," he says calmly. "I missed my lecture this morning because I was studying for my arts exam, and I wasn't able to talk to you these days either, which made it surprisingly worse. I couldn't sleep last night either."

He says all of this with a pure, almost gentle sort of conviction. Like he's a stranger in an elevator, making a polite comment about the weather to fill the silence. It's raining quite hard today. It's predicted sunnier tomorrow, though.

Your throat is dry and it almost hurts to talk. What do you even say to that?

"Okay."

Minho nods solemnly, the ghost of a lopsided grin on his face. His gaze is implicative, almost a smirk. "I happen to be quite overtired at the moment. Do you know what happens when people are overtired, Y/n? I think you do."

Not for the first time in your life do you curse Lee Minho with the eternal role of 'little shit'.

"No," you whisper, unable to speak any louder. "I don't."

"I told you to stop lying."

"I'm not."

He tilts his head a little more. "You are."

You go silent.

Minho's hand comes up to experimentally touch your cheek. You almost flinch at the unexpected gesture but you force yourself to stay still, not wanting to shatter the charged atmosphere. The pads of his fingers are soft and then he draws them back, bringing them to cover his mouth.

He yawns.

He's doing it on purpose now, you think in exasperation. Trying to make me admit that I wasn't overtired at all when I touched him. Even though he already knows what I was doing.

He leans back in his chair, tilting his head to the other side. At this point he's just teasing. He knows exactly what your intentions are. He's playing it up to frustrate you.

Minho brings one hand to his perfect hair and rifles his fingers through it, gaze never leaving you. He messes it up on purpose and you find yourself almost drawn to him, wanting nothing more to reach out and fix it. His gaze is nothing more than an invitation. At least, that's what you're assuming.

You're so close to him, you could just reach out and brush it away like you did those days ago... so you do. It's as soft as you remember, like pinfeathers between your fingertips, and you card it out of his face in gentle, slow motions, not fixing it completely, busy trying your best to ignore his piercing gaze almost burning through yours.

You hesitantly poke his knee, just checking that he's not an apparition and that this is actually happening. It is. And when you look back up, you feel Minho's presence far closer to you than you did before.

This time, when he tilts his head, it is a gentle question. Yes or no?

You nod shakily.

Minho leans in slowly, eyes flitting to yours, checking every step of the way, before his mouth brushes gently against the curve of your cheekbone. Like a bird's wing brushing your face. Colour floods your cheeks and your face burns rosy as his mouth brushes yours briefly, a little clumsy but full of awkward affection, your eyes closing. Minho presses his forehead to yours for a few seconds and then leans back. You open your eyes.

His hair is a royal mess; you suppose your face is a mirror of his expression. His eyes are still fixed on you, the colour high and flushed on his cheeks, mouth parted. You don't think you've ever seen anything, anyone more beautiful.

Minho has the audacity to grin. To grin.

"I think," he breathes shakily, "that I should be overtired more often."

You let out a shaky laugh. "Yes."

"Y/n?"

"Minho."

"Please stop avoiding me," he says softly. "It was lonely."

You stutter out a response, surprised you're still functioning after he just kissed you. "Okay."

Minho brushes a strand of hair behind your ear. "You know that assignment we were working on together?"

You blink, surprised at the sudden change of subject, but you go along with it. You'd handed in your parts together several days ago; you'd scraped through with a decent mark, and Minho, of course, scored with his usual A+. "Yes?"

Minho actually laughs then and you know instantly that it's a sound you want to hear him make for the rest of your life. "I knew you would struggle with it, so I gave you most of the work so that you'd have to come to me for help. We spent more time together because of it."

Your mouth drops open. "Minho, you didn't."

He grins, poking your cheek. "Told you I'm super smart. I pulled an A+ and a hot partner at the same time."

You kick him in the shin.

a/n bonus: i saw this in the tags and i have to admit i laughed

hello 🙊 for the prompt list thing may i request 17 + 28 with lino or jisung pls 😌 excited to see what you'll come up with heheh

i had fun with this request, anon. it's kind of sad so maybe i'll write a little part 2 to it but ig we all need some angst from time to time. i was actually going to write jisung for this fic but i'll save him for another ><

rose - lee minho

pairing: lee minho x reader

summary: you and lee minho, the smartest student on campus, get unexpectedly paired up to work on an assignment

genre: kinda angsty ngl, escalates quickly, college!au, mutual pining, mentions of being thrown out a window (it's a minho fic what do you expect)

a/n: this isn't really how i saw it going but fuck it we ball. dividers by @kodaswrld

⛓️ prompts: 17. "Why are you looking at me like that?" / 28. "You're looking at me like that again."

skz prompt list | skz masterlist

"It doesn't make sense," you groan, dropping your head into your hands. Giving up completely, you drop yourself further into the mess of books and papers scattered across Minho's low desk.

Today, the sun is watery and filters weakly through the wide windows of Minho's dorm bedroom, making everything seem pale and slightly colder than usual. You rub your feet together under the desk, your fluffy socks providing some comfort, before it evaporates as you turn back to the part of the assignment you've been struggling over for the past hour.

Minho is sitting across from you, embedded in his own section of the assignment; his head is bent and he sits with his back straight, his elbows positioned so that they just touch the edge of the table. He is pale in the weak sunlight and the only movement he makes comes from the slight flicking of his wrist as he neatly scribes down notes, apparently unaware of your predicament.

He looks like a statue, you think.

"Hey, Minnie," you hum lowly, resorting to annoying him instead of re-attempting your part of the assignment. "Help me out."

"No. And don't call me that."

You groan, pressing your fingers down onto the table and pushing several miscellaneous papers his way. A couple of sticky notes go flying too, and Minho sighs irritatedly as he plucks one off of the collar of his pristine white shirt.

Your eyes follow the trail of his hand as he lowers it, before it creeps back up. His top two buttons are undone and you can see the attractive glint of a necklace, a sleek chain perhaps, against the perfect porcelain skin of his throat-

You sigh. Of all people, why him?

You wish you'd been allowed to choose your own partner for the project. But your professor had other ideas in mind and decided to pair up random people 'to facilitate teamwork and spark new connections' or whatever. Something like that.

Much to your disappointment, you'd been separated from your friends and teamed up with Lee Minho. You knew of him but had never actually talked. Unless you counted that one time where you'd run face-first into him as he'd been coming out of the college library. And all that had been was a rushed apology from you and a slight, huffy glare from him.

He was kind of strange, you thought. He always sat at the front of every lecture, always finished his work way before it was due and scored perfectly every time. Without missing a beat and without breaking a sweat. It was so incredibly irritating.

On top of that, he was popular, usually swarmed by friends and other students whenever he walked the halls. Not that he seemed to notice most of the time. Or maybe he just didn't care. Maybe he was a robot. It would explain his behaviour.

A really attractive robot at that.

You crane your neck a little, peering over the stacks of books between the both of you and see that he's almost done writing up his notes for his section. All without even so much as a glance in your direction. Your page isn't even half-full and you're stuck.

"Why'd you ask me to come to your dorm if you were just gonna ignore me?" You whine.

"Because," he says calmly, "it's easier than having to do it over the phone."

Little shit.

"What about the library?" You retort. "We could have just gone there."

Minho doesn't take his eyes off the paper and he doesn't reply either. Faint colour rises in his cheeks but you're too wrapped up in your own current problems to notice.

"Minho, come on. We're supposed to be working together." You tilt your head and fix him with a pleading gaze, half-despair, half panic. You're not dumb, and maybe not incredibly smart like Lee Minho either, but this assignment is difficult. And it's harder when he's refusing to help.

You don't take your eyes off of him, deciding to keep your gaze fixed on his face until he chooses to acknowledge you. You wait almost ten minutes before he looks up again, and he jolts slightly, like he hasn't realised you've been fixated on him all that time.

He stiffens. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Because. I need help."

"You're clever. Figure it out on your own."

Your heart flutters from the rather direct compliment but you choose to ignore it. "Minho, please."

He smirks suddenly, a short bout of apparent confidence, teasing as he imitates you. "Minho, please."

You swear and lift a fist but he doesn't even flinch. He looks at you quietly and his smile disappears, then he gets up and crouches down beside you, poring over your page.

He hums. "You didn't write shit."

You groan. "Yes, I know. Thank you for clarifying."

"You're welcome," he murmurs, unfazed, eyes fixed on the page.

It's then that you realise how close he is; he's not sitting down fully, leaning on the balls on his feet, a temporary sitting position. One hand is on the desk and he's leaning in a little, his mouth moving slightly as he exhales out words, skim-reading your page.

He smells good, you think.

Minho is there for what feels like hours but is probably a few seconds, and then he leans back, fixing you with a stare. You feel the unusual warmth of his presence near you fade, like a mug of hot tea gone cold, and a bitter feeling rises in your throat. You open your mouth a little, maybe to prepare for whatever insult he's concocted, but it doesn't come.

What does come is an unexpectedly gentle explanation of your section of the assignment. He moves a little closer to point things out on your research papers, so close that if you turned your head, the tip of your nose would brush his chest. He's looming over you a little but you feel strangely protected, and you find yourself relishing in the almost-contact of Minho being there beside you.

So much so that when he leans back to clarify that you've understood what he's been saying, you find yourself as a loss for words. All you can do is gaze up at his stupidly perfect face, mind whirring with many thoughts but none as present as the fact that you hadn't been listening and now he will probably throw you out the window.

"Y/n."

You blink once, slowly, stupidly.

"You're looking at me like that again."

And maybe it's the fact that this whole thing feels unreal, or that the assignment has you so dazed, or that you're working with Lee Minho of all people, but you suddenly find your hand reaching up to brush a strand of soft hair out of his eyes. It trails down until your thumb rests gently in the middle of his plush bottom lip. You expect him to move back, chide you, glare, push you away.

But he doesn't.

Later, you will be embarrassed by this memory, and the fact dimly registers somewhere in the back of your mind.

It seems to register in Minho's mind too, because his eyes widen a fraction and suddenly you find yourself falling off the soft, ethereal cloud of fantasy into the real world, where consequences and rational thoughts exist, though they didn't several seconds earlier.

You jerk your hand back and he looks almost disappointed, but you don't notice. A strand of fumbled apologies leaves your mouth as you stand, almost tripping, and quickly collect your belongings.

Minho has his hands out, seemingly trying to stop you, but his face is burning and unsure and you brush past him, fleeing as your eyes sting with tears. You rush through the unfamiliar setting of his dorm and eventually find the door.

"Wait," Minho gasps, seemingly out of breath. From what, you don't know. He still has his hands out, but he doesn't move to touch you, maybe afraid that he might scare you or cause some sort of unwanted reaction. Not that you're not already having one.

"Please," he says, quieter. You're still fumbling with the lock on the door, back to him. And you're not listening, too dazed and afraid to turn and face him. Humiliation washes over you in waves.

You feel so embarrassed.

But Minho has yet to throw an insult or a glare. He's just standing there, his hands out, almost reaching, and an expression of near-worry on his face. It looks strange, like he's not quite sure how to move his features to express it. In other situations, you would have laughed. Now all you want to do is cry.

The lock on the dormitory door finally gives and you rush out, disappearing down the hallway in a blur. Minho lets out a last, frantic 'wait' and considers rushing after you, but his rationality tells him it would just make things worse.

He pushes the door shut in a haze and sinks down against it, his hair ruffling against the smooth, white wood. He finds himself out of breath again, like he's been running, though he hasn't, and his stomach feels funny. Like something is leaping around inside it.

It's not unpleasant, almost a nice feeling, but it's unfamiliar and Minho has learnt to recognise that unfamiliar is usually not a good sign. He's supposed to know things and the feeling won't stop, so he puts both hands on his stomach to try and press it out, maybe.

But it doesn't work. Flashes of you run through his mind and the feeling only intensifies. His face feels like it's burning and he is bewildered, rosy in the weak sunlight. And he has a sudden, strange longing, yearning, maybe, to see you again.

Is it because you touched his face like that and he kind of liked it, maybe? Is it because he enjoyed having you around even though you're not a friend, or is it because you're a familiar face at college, and familiar is good and familiar is safe? He doesn't know.

A rather raw feeling surfaces in his chest and he almost gags at the unexpectedness of it. Suddenly he's on a stormy ocean, waves ravaging and lightning flashing all around him. He falls off his boat and loses his grip on the anchor and sinks into the cold, dark sea.

It runs down his cheeks, staining them wet and salty. And he's not one to be overemotional or show much of it in the first place unless there is a real reason, but he can't stop.

Minho puts his head in his hands and cries.

a/n: part 2?

Can you do something fluffy with 29 and 45 with Changbin? Glad to see you back!! (JJ)

hihi <3 thanks for the request, it's good to be back! this is my first time writing prompts but it's super helpful actually... idk why i didn't do it before. i know you said fluff but i've been itching to write spy!changbin for so long so i just did it quite lighthearted. lmk if you want a rewrite <3

gatecrasher - seo changbin

pairing: seo changbin x reader

summary: you and changbin get sent on a spy mission. look i don't know what the fucking description for this is supposed to be okay

genre: fluff, superspy! au, crack, pretty lighthearted, a few mentions of guns but that's it, kiwi hyunjin surprise appearance

a/n: i mean, come on. changbin as a spy? yes.

⛓️ prompts: 29. "I like the way you think." / 45. "This changes everything."

skz prompt list | skz masterlist

Changbin is smirking as you reach the bottom of the red-carpeted stairs, his hands tucked into the pockets of his sleek, dark suit. The top button of his dark dress shirt is undone and he pulls the material away from his skin, fanning himself dramatically as you reach to take his extended hand.

He bows exaggeratedly and you swat at his chest, chuckling. You subtly brush a hand across your thigh to feel that the gun holster strapped to your thigh hasn't come loose. You know the exact model and make of your pistol is also strapped against Changbin's chest, sleek and dark and out of sight.

For now.

Adjusting the comm-link in your ear, you take Changbin's arm as you two subtly blend in amongst the other guests. The ballroom is large and sumptuous, filled with sparkling light and expensive items for auction. The guests themselves are dripping in diamonds and glamourous clothing and you fight the bile rising in the back of your throat. These people are so snobby and oblivious.

Changbin nudges you silently and you both take several steps backwards, disappearing behind a heavy velvet curtain. Part of you wishes you could keep walking through the ballroom and admire everything, but you and Changbin have a job to do.

That's the thing about being a spy. Sometimes you want to do things and then your duties tug you in the other direction, the way an irritated owner might tug their yappy dog on a leash.

"By the way," Changbin whispers from where he's situated next to you, "you look good."

"You too, gatecrasher."

He rolls his eyes. "We're spies. We're allowed to gatecrash. Legally. I think."

He tugs on your arm now, leading you to the curtain. You're both here to acquire a precious item; or rather swipe it and bring it back to your headquarters. Peeking out from in front of Changbin, you notice the target item being inspected by a snobby-looking man and another woman.

"What now?" You whisper.

Changbin hums from where he's looking out the curtain above you. "We just have to wait a while until they leave. Then we'll swipe it."

You groan softly. "I hate waiting. It'll take ages for that guy and his wife to leave. Look how much they're yapping."

He snickers. "Some particular intel tells me that woman with the snobby-looking guy is his mistress, not his wife."

You gasp, equal parts scandalised and delighted. Changbin claps a hand over his mouth to muffle his laugh.

"Or," he says, clearly struggling to hold his mirth in, "We could go now and try to fake-buy the stupid thing first. This is an auction, after all."

"Yeah. One that we broke into."

He rolls his eyes and pokes your forehead. "That's because it's our job to break into places and steal things. It's for the greater good."

You grin. "Greater good, my a-"

"Shut up, they'll hear us. Let's just wait a couple minutes then stroll out all posh and try and win the auction for the item."

You smirk and look back out the curtain. "I like the way you think."

Changbin nods modestly. "I know you do. It's very obvious."

"Just one thing, how are we supposed to walk out of here with the item? You have to pay for it and then show your receipt to the bouncers at the door."

He grins. "We'll figure that out soon enough."

You roll your eyes and turn back to peek through the curtains. A tiny, almost inaudible sound from behind you makes both you and Changbin whip around, guns unholstered and in hand.

Hwang Hyunjin is leaning against the wall, dressed in a sleek white and black tuxedo. His hair is startingly different, now a shorn dirty blonde and you find yourself missing his long, dark locks all of a sudden. Not that he looks bad. He looks good, pretty even-

You gulp as Changbin lets out a small puff of laughter. "Hello, kiwi."

Hyunjin just rolls his eyes, his voice a low drawl. "Hello, Bin. Chief sent me to keep an eye on you two. Swiped that pretty target item yet?"

He looks at you as he says the word 'pretty' and you feel Changbin bristle on your behalf. Not that you mind, though you feign annoyance at Hyunjin's subtle remark.

"I don't see you with the item," Changbin retorts.

"Yeah, because I'm supervising."

You fight a laugh as Changbin turns back to the curtain, huffing dramatically. "Supervising. Totally."

Hyunjin just grins and peeks out the curtain too. "I mean, I could go get the item, since you two are content to hide behind here."

You poke him harshly in the side and he bends sideways, glaring playfully at you.

"This changes everything," Changbin huffs. "It'll look suspicious if two of us came behind this curtain and three of us walk out."

You side-eye him. "What now, then?"

Hyunjin's breath plays across your cheek. "Let's all go."

"No," you and Changbin whisper in unison.

He rolls his eyes. "On the count of three."

"Hyunjin-" You protest.

"Onetwothreego-"

And he's gone, sashaying into the crowd of opulence.

"Fucking kiwifruit man." Changbin swears, glaring through the curtain. "Come on, he'll wreak havoc on his own."

You grin and take his offered arm. "Thought he was supervising."

"Not anymore, it seems. We need to swipe that target item or at least catch up with Hyunjin. We exit from the curtain on three, okay? One-"

"Two three go!"

a/n: if i had the motivation i would have made this into a series

lee know - skz fluff headcanons

pairing: lee know x reader

summary: lee know headcanons

genre: fluff, idol! au, comfort, general fluff headcanons, i'm calling him minho bc it's easier to type sorry not sorry

a/n: posting for the first time in a while. divider from @plutism

masterlist

we all know how much minho loves his dancing

so he'll often drag you to the studio to teach you some moves

since you're into stray kids as a whole, you're often trying to learn the choreo

it helps when your boyfriend is the one who helps make it lol

so whenever he can

he's teaching you the moves and how to make them look fluid

you're bored? studio. you just woke up? studio. it's the middle of the night and you can't sleep?

studio

he also likes performing the choreo for you so he can get your feedback

doesn't matter if you're a dancer or not

he just likes doing it for you so he can get another perspective on how he can do better

of course, it's not always helpful because you're always so enthusiastic and think he's amazing at it

he doesn't mind though, as long as you're happy

will tease you when you try and execute the movements like he does with varying levels of success

actually, when i think of it, i think he would love teaching you because it helps him understand the routine better

sometimes even drags you along to the group practices so you can give little opinions and try the moves yourself

likes watching his members show you how to move your arms in legs in a particular position

but he does get a bit irritated when hyunjin gets a little too close to you

airfryer

minho also loves cooking, we all know him as the chef of skz

and you're often hungry at night time for some reason

so you usually just roll over in bed and lightly shake him awake

he'll carry you to the kitchen and sit you down on the counter before turning a nearby lamp on

you might tell him what you're craving or tell him to just surprise you

one night it might be ramen, another it might be a simple sandwich

but whatever he makes for you, it's always really tasty and you have a little tradition of splitting it in half so he can eat too

he doesn't have much of an appetite at night time but he eats his half anyway to make you happy

you always feel super sleepy afterwards so you just let him carry you back to bed

he'll just wrap his arms around you and bury his face in your neck

he's out within a minute

he likes waking up early too, and just breathing you in next to him, fast asleep

for him, it's the highest form of vulnerability

trusting him to be around you when you're unconscious

he's honoured and it's not a surprise when you wake up to see him sleepily smiling next to you

also i feel like he sniffs a lot in the mornings

like he's a sniffy boy when he wakes up

anyways

minho loves anything cosy and warm

he's a whole cat

so expect lots of blanket forts and plush cushions in your living room

you two like collecting knitted blankies and little plush toys cos it makes for super cosy nights in

you could get home at the end of the day and just see him up to his neck in plushies and cushions

usually with a blanket all balled up next to him so the cats can share it

and he's usually asleep too after a long day at the company

so you just collapse into the fluffy mess next to him and take it easy

you and minho also have a friendly competition of who can come up with the most pet names

knowing how teasing this man is, he'll be coming up with the most disgustingly cringy sweet nicknames

he'll say one out of the blue and you'll fire right back, equally as saccharine

then it's usually a back and forth to see how unhinged it'll get

'honey pie' 'sweet pookums' 'fluffy wuffy cupcake' 'my darling toenail' and so forth

they just get more and more ridiculous and by the end of the back-and-forth you're both fighting not to throw up

still funny tho

despite the teasing, minho is the sweetest guy you've ever known

also so supportive of your dreams and ambitions

he also encourages you to talk about your feelings with him

if you're the trusting type, great

but if you're a little more wary, he'll gently encourage you to open up

but he never pushes you beyond your limits, since he hates being pushed past his boundaries himself

that's the thing about minho

he knows what he hates and so he doesn't tend to do those things to other people

he doesn't like it when people ask him why he's quiet sometimes and so he doesn't ask you the same thing

he just sorta knows

he's also very gentle with you in private, always making sure you're comfortable

around the guys he'll be a lot more teasing but you don't mind

in turn, you encourage him to do the same

you know some people call him cold or heartless

it often affects him when he feels he can't convey his feelings about you as well as he wants to

you know he means well and you know he loves you

he's very clear about that

so whatever he gives you, whether it's a little gift or a compliment or even just physical affection, you accept it

and it must be enough because he always gets all smiley

you know his little smile? yeah, that one

he compliments you? you'll thank him happily and he starts getting that little shy smile on his face

it's so cute so you make sure to be as open as you can towards him

there's nothing you both love more than each other <3

a/n: legend says hyunjin is still in the airfryer

the fast lane : part 5 (bangchan x reader x felix)

Summary: Welcome to the world of underground street racing. Chan is known for his flashy cars and confident attitude. You're new to the racing scene, eager but inexperienced. Felix is known for his sneaky tactics and charming demeanour. What happens when all three of your worlds collide?

Warnings: skz racer!au, fluff, angst, chan isn't as much of a dick (yayyy), jisung is the best, lots of vroom vrooming, not proofread, brief mentions of injury, tiny bit suggestive if you squint, that's it i think 3.6 k wc

series masterlist

part 5 : white knight and black knight

"You ready?" Jisung asked.

Y/n nodded shakily, adjusting her leather jacket. The material felt foreign, unusually smooth and uncomfortable against her skin. Jisung had kindly lent it to her, since she didn't have a racing jacket of her own yet, and not for the first time, Y/n was truly grateful for his amiable nature and quick smile.

He was just so easy to be friends with.

Y/n had only spent several days in Jisung's company as he'd helped train her, but by the time Saturday's race came around, she felt as if she'd known him for years. It was a pleasant feeling, to have someone who was so willingly kind to her after experiencing Chan's confusing attitude towards her, and the other racers' nonchalance and ignorance of her presence entirely. Minho's absence still bitterly tugged at Y/n's heartstrings, but with Jisung's constant chattering, grinning, and spontaneous antics, the sadness and longing began to slowly fade away, and Y/n surprisingly found herself enjoying herself in and out of the arena for the first time since Minho's impromptu training sessions.

Jisung nudged her shoulder suddenly, chuckling as she blinked, having been so lost in her thoughts that she'd forgotten where she was. "You'll be fine, Y/n."

Y/n exhaled, nodding, glad that he'd mistaken her quietness for nerves. She liked Jisung, but being a naturally suspicious person, she was finding it truly difficult to open up and tell him things that might have come easy to someone else. She understood now, why Chan acted the way he did, how he might have been feeling the same way as she did, not knowing who to trust or open up to.

Y/n was surprised she currently even had the capacity to hear herself think. The arena was bright and bustling, trails of car exhaust smoke rising in wisping plumes against the night sky. The floodlights were slightly dimmed, their usual blinding, white glare toned down by the hundreds of coloured light bulbs threading through the grandstands, giving the arena and racetrack a garishly dramatic, multi-coloured aura of reds, pinks, blues, and yellows. The cars racing in the next heat were already lined up, decorated in flashy stripes and sheens of neon colours that made Y/n's head spin if she looked for too long. Minho's car, her car now, was there too, the neon green and chrome black cast sending a jolting, bittersweet pang through her heart. Jisung's neon red and candy-pink Mustang was positioned directly behind hers.

Someone brushed past her shoulder suddenly, smelling woodsy and spicy. Y/n knew that scent now.

Chan moved past her, walking into the crowds towards his car as if she'd conjured him there out of her thoughts. She hadn't seen him around much since their shared breakdown in the tuning shop, but she was relieved to at least see that he was okay. Yn subconsciously realised she'd been coming around to him, albeit extremely slowly and warily.

Not to say she had forgiven him for what he'd done to Minho.

Y/n considered going after him suddenly, feeling a strange urge to reconnect with him the way they'd done in the garage. But she knew in her heart Chan wouldn't want to talk about it, especially since he'd been crying. She had a feeling most of the racers here weren't really into shows of affection or vulnerability unless it was shoving their tongues down the throats of the grid girls, who were currently swarming flirtatiously around a blonde-haired racer clad in jet black and blue.

Not that there was any time to reconnect with Chan anyway.

Jisung clapped her on the back, giving her a final, million-watt smile before disappearing behind her to enter his own car in the lineup. Y/n took a shaky breath and opened the car door of her own, sliding smoothly into the driver's seat. Her fingers found their place on the wheel, the cool leather sending an involuntary shiver up her spine. She closed her eyes tightly and tried to focus. Opening them again, trying to clear her head, Y/n glanced in her rearview mirror, noticing Jisung making his final adjustments in his seat. Y/n fought a tiny, fond laugh as he hit his elbow on the window frame, his lean top half temporarily disappearing as he keeled over dramatically at the pain.

Dragging her eyes away from her friend, Y/n glanced across to her left, noticing Chan clenching the wheel of his own car next to her. His sleek, dark Corvette was polished to an effortless shine, the red streamlining catching the multi-coloured lights sprinkled around the racetrack. He was wearing the exact same black and red racing suit he'd worn when she'd first ran into him, and Y/n cringed at the memory, remembering how she'd fallen straight onto her ass afterwards. She was also convinced that Chan probably slept in his racing suit at this point. She was about to smile at the thought, turning to look at him, when she realised he looked a lot more focused than usual.

No, not focused.

Tense.

Like he was worried about something.

Every single muscle was rigid and stiff. He kept shifting in his seat, his usual bravado disappearing completely as he fretted silently to himself, frowning every now and then. Y/n hastily redirected her gaze as Chan's eyes caught hers, her heart thudding at the unexpected glance.

A grating rev from her other side made Y/n jolt. Glaring at the racer to her left, Y/n's jaw dropped a little as she realised the racer who had been flirting with the grid girls was staring directly at her. Her glare disappeared as quickly as it had come, a sudden shyness and sense of inferiority crashing over her being. His car must have been the most expensive one on the track. The McLaren P1's sleek, deep blue body was decorated with vibrant, sky blue lightning strikes detailed in black and white. It was truly stunning.

So is the racer inside it, Y/n thought.

She promptly realised she'd been staring at the blonde-haired racer for some time now. He was doing the same, his dark, almost boyishly pretty eyes boring into Y/n's with an intensity that made her want to shrink into oblivion. His face was freckled, the blonde strands falling down over his forehead and nape in messy, loosely clustered strands. She could faintly see his roots growing out, the colour beneath the harsh dye a pleasant, dark, chocolatey brown.

Y/n watched, stupefied, as the racer smirked, a strand of pretty blonde hair falling into his face. He shook his head a little, shaking it out of the way, before cocking a confident eyebrow at her and smirking again, his tongue darting out to briefly touch his teeth. Heat flooded Y/n's cheeks at the expression, though she knew he was mocking her, nonverbally telling her to stay out of the way.

Out of his way, most likely.

She watched as he threw his head back and laughed, though she couldn't hear it from her car. It didn't seem like the friendly type of laugh, either. More derisive and taunting. Y/n's hands clenched involuntarily on the wheel and she looked straight ahead, trying to redirect her moral compass, and focus.

This would have been so much easier if Minho was here, she thought desperately. She leant forward a little and watched with hawk-like eyes as a grid girl sashayed onto the track, holding a single, black-and-white checkered flag. Y/n's heart thudded as she watched the girl raise the flag. Y/n glanced at Chan one more time before the flag dropped.

The instant the green signal flared, they were off.

Tires screeched against asphalt as the cars launched forward, engines roaring. The blonde-haired racer's car had already disappeared round a turn as soon as the signal flare had launched, and Y/n sputtered, faltering momentarily.

How had he gotten there so fast?

Recollecting herself, Y/n's heart leapt into her throat as she slammed her foot on the gas. The adrenaline surged through her veins as the world around her blurred, the car's momentum throwing her against the seat. Jisung's car sped past her, stuck in the middle between Chan's car and her own, but she strangely found she didn't mind. Jisung seemed to have enough skill to hold his own, and Y/n was far more focused and preoccupied on beating two particular cars.

Chan’s car surged ahead at first, taking an early lead like Y/n had always seen him do, with smooth confidence and practiced ease. Y/n glanced at her rearview mirror; she could already see the blonde racer's car coming up behind her. He was so incredibly fast that Y/n put him out of her mind, instead focusing on Chan's car beside her.

Forget about the hot blonde guy, she thought. I just have to place, and beat Chan.

Chan's car was faster, smoother, and Y/n could tell that he knew the track like the back of his hand. But Y/n stayed focused, her knuckles white against the wheel, refusing to be intimidated. She could feel the power beneath her, every turn and shift of the road pushing her to test her limits, and go beyond. She gritted her teeth and wrenched the wheel, eyes laser-focused on the track ahead and the cars vying to overtake her.

The cars whipped around tight corners, engines screaming, sparks flying as their bumpers almost brushed. Y/n inched closer, narrowing the gap between her car and Chan's. Her eyes flicked to the speedometer—she was pushing her car harder than ever.

Y/n saw Chan’s engine suddenly sputter, and his car jerking violently. The reckless revving dropped, and the smooth power that was seconds ago relied on faltered. His car slowed, losing speed, and within seconds, it was clear—his car was stalling.

Y/n's eyes instinctively flickered back and forth between the track ahead and Chan's car, now dropping behind her. She could see him beat his fist against the wheel, his expression wild and glaring. Her heart hammered against her chest as she grit her teeth, wondering if she should slow down. But regaining her rationality, she cast Chan one last glance and sped past, right behind Jisung and the blonde racer. Steeling her focus, she looked ahead at the finish line, the grid girl now standing on the side of the track, waving the checkered flag.

Her hands tightened on the wheel. This is it.

The finish line was in sight, the wind whipping past her, the crowd roaring as they saw her take the lead, directly behind the blonde. She sped ahead, leaving Chan and his stalling car behind.

Seconds later, Y/n crossed the line, the rush of her first placing victory flooding through her veins. She slammed on the brakes, coming to a hard stop, her heart pounding, barely believing what had just happened.

She turned the engine off and with clammy hands, opened the door, stumbling out. Her ankles and wrists ached with the exertion and her fingers hurt, like they had been molded to the steering wheel. She made a mental note to buy gloves and loosen her grip next time.

The thought flew out of Y/n's head as a large, lean figure tackled her in a hug, her hearing muffling temporarily along with the roars from the crowd. Jisung lifted her above the ground, his hair slick with sweat, eyes crinkled as he laughed. He shrieked, jumping up and down on the spot, Y/n jolting in his arms.

"You did it!" he cheered. "Even beat me and Chan. How's that for a proper race, uh?"

Y/n smiled, letting out a tentative, wheezy laugh, struggling in his grip.

"Thank you, Jisung, but I can't breathe-"

"Oh! Oh, sorry, sorry," he placed her back on the ground, readjusting the jacket from where he'd disheveled it. He grinned at her, running a gloved hand through his hair. The haphazardly neon, overexcited crowd bustled around them, jostling and shouting. "Better?"

Y/n nodded, relieved, just as she spotted a head of messy blonde hair. Peeking behind her friend, she noticed the blonde racer pushing and brushing his way through the crowd. She blurted out a half-hearted excuse to Jisung and disappeared into the mess of people, trying to keep him in her sight.

Finally making her way through to the other side of the crowd, Y/n inhaled in a much-needed breath of cold, slightly smoky air, and glanced around hastily, her eyes settling on the racer. He was a little way away, talking to a slim, well-dressed man with a stern face. Y/n stumbled past a crowd of flamboyantly dressed young women and came up beside him, panting slightly. The well-dressed man disappeared with a glance at her, just as the blonde racer turned to face her. Y/n's breath escaped her lungs in a low whoosh.

He was beautiful.

Stuttering slightly, and feeling like a common peasant in the presence of someone so ethereally charming, Y/n found she had temporarily lost the capacity for speech. Her words finally came out in a rather pathetic, stumbling mess of fragments.

"U-um, I just- wanted to say, that-"

The racer raised an eyebrow, his expression not unfriendly nor open. More... mildly irritated and hesitantly curious at the same time. Y/n was convinced she couldn't have pulled off the expression if she tried.

His voice broke through the charged, slightly smoky atmosphere, the tone and pitch of it deep and thick and smooth like honey.

"Yes?"

Y/n's knees almost buckled. His voice was rich and accented, like Chan's but just a little bit more so. Y/n noticed his freckles again, spotting the bridge of his nose and cheeks, his eyes veiled by long, dark lashes. There was a slighter larger freckle on the smooth curve of his cheekbone, shaped a little like a heart. She fought the sudden urge to smile at the cuteness of it and awkwardly cleared her throat.

"Um, congratulations. For winning the race."

Her words came out more composed than before. Y/n silently congratulated herself on being able to form a singular coherent sentence in front of this ethereal supermodel of a human being.

"Thank you."

Y/n fidgeted, unsure of what to do. She intertwined her fingers, trying not to make things awkward. The supermodel racer simply stared at her, tilting his head slightly, before reaching out and tugging lightly on the collar of her borrowed jacket. A jolt of fire seared through Y/n at the touch, though he had made no contact with her skin. Like a static shock.

"Stealing Jisung's things, hmm?"

Y/n stuttered. "He let me me borrow it. Uhm, for the race."

"I see. Congratulations to you too. Much better since your last try."

Y/n almost choked on her saliva, the humiliating memory of her first race resurfacing in her mind. Had he been watching her?

All this time?

The racer seemed to notice her assumption, because his eyes widened infinitesimally, his hands clenching into fists. Seemingly irritated, he huffed out a breath that felt more forced than genuine.

Must be to keep up an image, Y/n thought ruefully to herself. I bet he's a softie under all of it. Like Chan. I think.

The blonde's thick, velvety voice floated through the air to her again, this time tinted in clarity and begrudging respect.

"Don't get cocky, rookie."

"Okay."

The racer simply nodded, apparently deeming the conversation finished, and brushed past her into the crowd.

Y/n watched him go.

☆★☆

The crowd was like a human barrier; Y/n was pushing and stumbling her way through, trying to get back to Jisung. Suddenly turning around, she ran directly into someone, almost falling over backwards. Panic set in her chest as she stumbled, the jostling crowd around her doing nothing to help her regain her bearings or balance.

Y/n squeezed her eyes shut, bracing, just as a pair of strong arms coiled around her waist, warm and stable. Her feet caught themselves on the asphalt, and one foot hovered unsurely just above the ground. Y/n looked up at Chan.

He smiled ruefully. "Should have caught you the first time, uh?"

Y/n's heart dropped out from her ribcage, down her legs, and out of her ass. She flushed suddenly at the feeling of his arms around her waist, cheeks tingling with fire.

"Thanks," she managed to get out as Chan pulled her fully upright. He released his hold on her and Y/n's body almost followed him like a magnet, already feeling cold without his touch. A sense of bittersweet disappointment filled her stomach. She blinked, hard, before looking up at him, unsure of what to say. Was he upset he'd lost?

"Um, your car-"

"Don't worry about it," Chan's expression was unreadable.

Such a carefully constructed mask, Y/n thought. A lot like Minho's.

But where Minho's mask was gold and ivory, Chan's was silver and obsidian.

Opposites.

In every way, it seemed. Black and white. Light and dark. Like two knights from opposing kingdoms, standing for completely different things.

White knight and black knight.

Y/n snapped out of her thoughts, opening her mouth to speak. Chan beat her to it.

"I'm sorry."

What?

Y/n's dumbfounded expression must have betrayed her surprise, because Chan rolled his eyes, tapping his foot on the asphalt. He huffed, seemingly trying to steel himself, or keep his irritation in check. Knowing Chan as little as she did, she went ahead and assumed it was probably the latter.

"Just- I'm sorry. That I shouted at Minho in front of you, that I left the tuning shop so suddenly. I didn't mean to get so sentimental, just- memories, y'know?"

Y/n blinked, her capacity for speech returning from its brief holiday.

"Oh. Um- it's okay."

Chan blinked back at her, expression mildly surprised. His eyebrows shot up into his hairline, disbelieving. It was clear he hadn't been expecting to be forgiven.

"I thought you'd be pissed."

Y/n shrugged. "I was, but I let it go after a while. I forgive you. You know, if that's what you want to hear."

Chan's mouth formed a small, 'o' and Y/n's cheeks puffed up, trying to hold back a laugh.

"You look like a pufferfish," she snickered.

Chan flushed a light pink across his cheekbones and tutted once at her before hastily running a hand through his dark, sweat-slicked hair. Now that he was standing a little closer, Y/n could see the light bruising around his right eye showing through. She could see the light, careful smoothing of concealer over the sweat-sheened area and bit the inside of her cheek. A tiny patch of purple and green bloomed in faint patches at the corner of his eye, and to Y/n, it looked like it'd gotten worse since the last time they'd seen each other. Se glanced up at the racer, suddenly concerned, but decided not to say anything.

Chan suddenly opened his mouth to retort to her comment and was immediately tackled by a tornado with dirty blonde hair and a mesh shirt. He let out an oof and stumbled back a few steps, freezing as Jisung joyfully squeezed him around the middle. Chan exhaled before hesitantly patting Jisung on the back. Y/n chuckled.

"Y/n beat you," Jisung's voice was muffled, though it contained no small amount of glee.

Chan groaned. "Well spotted. Uh- you can let go now."

Jisung lifted his head from where it was buried in Chan's shoulder, and reluctantly let go, cheeks puffing out in a pout.

Y/n chuckled at her friend's antics and glanced at Chan. The crowd around her was beginning to feel suffocating.

"Let's go sit down."

☆★☆

Chan groaned as Jisung snatched his drink for the fourth time, laughing.

Y/n had dragged the both of them up into the bleachers, where they could watch the entire event without being crowded. The neon flashing lights and the screeching of the cars had dimmed, as if someone had draped a blanket over it, dulling the lights and colours and noises.

She dragged her gaze away from the arena below and turned her gaze to Jisung. He was busy scarfing down the rest of Chan's drink. Tossing it into a nearby bin, he turned to her with a cheeky grin. Chan groaned and shoved him lightly, displeased with the theft of his refreshment, sending Jisung into a fit of laughter.

Looking down at the arena again, Y/n replayed the events of the night. The blonde haired racer popped into her mind, and she turned to Jisung suddenly, curious.

"Jisung?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you, um- there's this blonde haired racer, he was next to me in the lineup. Do you maybe know who he is? He had the McLaren with the lightning strikes on it."

Jisung nodded thoughtfully. Chan was preoccupied, running calloused fingertips over the thick silver chain on his wrist. He looked up in interest just as Jisung spoke.

"Blonde hair, McLaren, lightning strikes... sounds like someone we know, huh, Chan?"

Chan rolled his eyes, leaning back in his seat. The night breeze blew his dark hair black, the wind running its cool fingers through the sweat-dried locks.

"Oh, we know him all right."

Jisung grinned cheekily, chuckling. "Chan hates him because he's a better racer."

"I do not. And he's not that good."

"Mhm, totally..."

"Oh, shut up, Jisung."

The younger boy laughed, holding up his hands in defence, leaning away from Chan. The shit-eating grin on Jisung's face was wiped away by a swift, sharp slap to the upside of his head. He groaned and flopped dramatically to the arena floor. Y/n, meanwhile, just blinked softly, unbothered by their antics.

"What's his name?" she asked inquisitively.

Chan huffed, stretching out his long legs in front of him before propping them up on the seat in front. His voice was gravelly.

"Lee Felix."

a/n: i planned to post this a month ago but oops. also felix introduction yay !

₊⋆. skz and what type of magic they would wield - 100 follower special .⋆₊

pairing: skz ot8 x reader special

summary: what type of magic i think each skz member would wield

genre: just a few special thoughts and headcanons for each skz member ✨

a/n: thank you for 100 !

bang chan - light magic

element: light

channeling device: Staff of Radiance (a gold, intricately carved staff with a glowing crystal on top, wound round with thin golden chains)

description: since chan is a leader, he would wield light magic, which symbolises inspiration, guidance, and optimism.

abilities: he can create illusions of any sort (not large-scale unless he really focuses), healing light, protective barriers, and overall, his magic just reflects his nurturing and protective nature.

would use his magic to permanently keep the lights off in his room bc he likes the dark

uses it to make the lighting around him better bc he wants to appear 'attractive in all circumstances'

be quiet christopher you already are

uses illusion magic to make the members seem like they're wearing funny outfits

or, when they aren't behaving and he has to go somewhere, he conjures a picture of himself to 'watch over them' just in case

lee know - shadow magic

element: shadows

channeling device: Shadow Dagger (a sleek, silver dagger with a hilt made of obsidian)

description: the comfort and safety lee know feels in the shadows would allow him to manipulate darkness. his magic includes stealth, like cloaking himself with shadows, or others. he can suddenly summon smoky, shadow-like creatures, which aligns with him mysterious persona and his love for animals.

would 10000% conjure shadow cats to sit all around him whenever he gets bored

uses it to combat the sun bc he doesn't want to get tanned, so there's just a cloud of darkness hovering over him and shading him whenever he's out

freaks all the members out by turning the lights off randomly

when the members are bored, he does little shadow puppet shows and makes up funny stories

sneaks up stealthily on the members and likes to dreamily spy on a certain han jisung (he's in love your honour)

seo changbin - fire magic

element: fire

channeling device: Flame Gauntlets (gold, fingerless gauntlets that have garnets set into each knuckle, glowing when magic is used)

description: changbin's fierce energy would grant him the power of fire. his magical abilities include creating flames and sparks, controlling fire, and enhancing his physical strength with the heat. he can also unleash powerful bursts of flames, which mirrors his passionate and energetic personality.

honestly uses his magic to cook really good food

i feel like he'd be all over the flame-grilling and sauteing and other methods of cooking really tasty meals

conjures a little flame in the palm of his hand and warms himself up with it when's he's cold

likes to make little fireworks that spring up into the air as a little celebration whenever something good happens

likes to change the colour of his fire quite often, but secretly likes turning them pink when he thinks no one's looking

hwang hyunjin - wind magic

element: wind

channeling device: Feathered Whip (a long, thin whip with ivory feathers set into the twined rope, with a hilt made of alexandrite)

description: hyunjin would have the ability to control wind. his magic symbolises freedom and grace, and includes creating gusts, manipulating air currents, and enhancing his agility in movement. this reflects his fluid, smooth dance style and artistic nature.

uses his magic to create dramatic effects, like blowing his hair back and making himself look like a superhero

purposely blows the members' belongings around so they have to chase after their belongings

likes to tease the maknaes by using air currents to lift their stuff high into the air and keep it there

likes pretending to 'blow away' bad luck with little air currents

everyone turns to him when it gets hot, so he conjures a continuous airflow to keep everyone cool

han jisung - earth magic

element: earth

channeling device: Nature's Ring (a thick-banded, white gold ring that resembles leaves twining around his finger, with a jade stone the shape of a leaf set in the middle)

description: han would wield earth magic, which represents stability and creativity. his powers include manipulating soil and plants, creating barriers from rocks, and even bringing forth nature's beauty, like making flowers and plants bloom and grow at will. his magical abilities represent his artistic soul, constant need for growth, and playful spirit.

likes making little plants pop up in ridiculous places (like under people's shoes and on top of their heads)

once made a red flower grow on Chan's nose so he looked like a clown and received a bubble of light that spelt 'pabo' above his head in return

never did it again

likes making customized bouquets for the members' birthdays and also likes to grow little flowers in each member's hair as decoration

goes outside for walks and grows little pockets of nature wherever he can (hannie my little environmental warrior)

lee felix - water magic

element: water

channeling device: Moonstone Sword (a long, silver blade with a hilt of moonstone and a pale blue wave design engraved on the blade)

description: Felix would have water magic, which symbolises adaptability and emotion. his abilities include controlling any type of water flow, creating fog or rain, and using ice for defensive purposes, reflecting his calm demeanor, fluid grace, and emotional depth.

is always drinking water to keep himself hydrated and his powers at full capacity

playfully makes it rain indoors and loves watching the members scramble for cover under the tables

always trying to rival Changbin's fire magic and puts out his flames at any given opportunity

when he's in a rare bad mood, a little thunderstorm cloud appears above his head

cheekily made it rain on Lee Know once and got shadow creatures haunting the space under his bed for two weeks

kim seungmin - ice magic

element: ice

channeling device: Frosted Amulet (an iridescent white chain with a shining blue and turquoise opal the shape of a snowflake set in the middle)

description: Seungmin would embody ice magic, representing calmness and resilience. his powers include freezing objects, creating shields of ice, and manipulating snow, showcasing his cool personality and tremendous ability to stay collected under pressure.

when he's annoyed with the members, he freezes their stuff to make life just that more difficult for them

petty king

supplies Lee Know with an abundance of far-too sharp icicles

conjures little snowmen for the maknaes to play with when they're bored

his drinks never go warm

yang jeongin - nature magic

element: nature

channeling device: Charm Bracelet (a rose-gold chain with a little carved pair of translucent, purple dragonfly wings connecting both sides of the charm)

description: jeongin would connect with nature magic, symbolizing growth and innocence. his abilities include communicating with animals, enhancing plant growth, and harnessing the power of the seasons, reflecting his youthful spirit and joyous love for life.

unlike Han's powers, Jeongin's abilities are more centered towards animals, insects, and living nature

his hyungs like to tease him and call him a disney princess (sorry innie they're 100% correct)

makes friends with pretty much every animal and insect he comes across

the members always scream for him whenever there's a spider bc he'll just kindly tell it to leave and it will scuttle off

trained a little robin to sing at his windowsill every morning as his alarm clock

a/n: i think these headcanons would be great for a magic! au or a magic-themed video game !

how each skz member would do their nails - hyung line

pairing: ot8 hyung line x reader

summary: how skz hyung line would do their nails

genre: ...

a/n: should i do the maknaes ?

bang chan ♡

sleek, short nails with a glossy finish

minimalist designs featuring simple lines or dots

soft pastel colors like baby blue or mint green

occasional graphic designs that showcase his creativity

nail art inspired by his favorite music or quotes

a touch of silver or gold foil for a hint of glam

maybe even matching nails with his close friends

well-groomed but low-maintenance to fit his busy lifestyle

lee know ♡

sharp, medium-length nails with a smooth black finish

edgy designs like geometric patterns or spikes

bold colors like deep red or dark purple to reflect his fierce side

maybe some nail art inspired by cats, as he loves them

a bit of nail art with star motifs or glitter for a touch of flair

matte finish on some nails for contrast

intricate designs that showcase his attention to detail

layered designs that represent his layered personality

changbin ♡

sturdy, well-kept nails with a sporty vibe

bright, energetic colors like neon green or vibrant orange

bold designs inspired by his rap style, such as graffiti

maybe some nail art with music notes or sound waves

occasional use of stickers or decals to express his playful side

clean and polished to reflect his strong work ethic

a mix of shiny and matte finishes for variety

short and practical, perfect for his active lifestyle

hyunjin ♡

we already did hyunjin's, but i think elegant nails with a glossy finish

soft, romantic colors like lavender or pink mixed with black accents

intricate, dark designs or delicate lace patterns

possibly some holographic or iridescent accents

nail art that highlights his artistic nature, like brushstroke designs

minimalist and chic, reflecting his fashion sense

maybe a touch of gold or silver for added sophistication

well-maintained and perfect for stage performances

a/n: ...yea i think i'll do the maknaes

opal - lee know

pairing: lee know x reader

summary: you and leeknow go to the rescue shelter

genre: fluff, non-idol! au, cats, not proofread, brief mentions of an injury, yes i know writing leeknow fics about cats is very typical but it's so wholesome

a/n: almost to 100 !

"Minho, look at this one!"

You grin and jump up and down on the spot, moving to tug your boyfriend away from the rescue shelter's notice board. You pull him over to the cages to stare through the bars. He blinks, and a big-eyed black cat stares right back.

"Little thing," he muses, poking a finger through the cage bars. The cat hisses wildly and swipes at Minho, drawing a thin, clean line of blood on his palm.

You let out an "oh!" of dismay and tug his hand out, but Minho doesn't blink, not even when you use your sleeve to wipe away the scarlet liquid. He simply blinks again before poking his unoccupied hand through the bars again, trying to tug his injured hand out of your grip.

"Stop it, you're hurt!"

"It's just a scratch."

You huff, keeping a firm grip on his wrist, trying insistently to get him to listen. As expected, he doesn't, simply looking at you with a dismissive sigh and turning his attention back to the cat, which is now a fluffy, frightened ball, backing up against the far end of its cage. Minho lowers his voice, speaking in a quiet, reassuring voice to the cat. You fight a smile.

"You know," he says softly to the frightened ball of dark fluff, "I have three cats at home. Soonie, Doongie, and Dori. They've scratched me lots of times, especially when I first got them. I'm not mad that you scratched me. It's okay."

Your heart melts as a smile pushes its way onto your lips. It's cute that he's talking to it, but-

"Minho, it's a cat. I'm not sure it understands-"

"It does," he says softly.

And sure enough, the dark fur of the cat is no longer ruffled and raised. It's crept up to the bars of the cage, inquisitively tilting its head at Minho, who tilts his own in return. He grins.

"See?" he says triumphantly. "It does understand."

You hum affectionately and bend down a little to peer into the cat's eyes, still holding Minho's cut hand. They're a rich, pretty shade of blue, a bit like opals, and they catch the light as they tilt to your face. You smile a little and reach out a finger, letting the cat sniff it curiously.

You've made up your mind. "Let's get this one."

Minho nods, smiling. He stands up, looking to the volunteer, and asks for the adoption paperwork. She runs off to get it. He turns back to the cat, who's now pawing at the bars of his cage, purring up at Minho.

"He's beautiful, isn't he?" he says softly, tone hushed.

You nod. "Pretty eyes."

Minho chuckles, tapping the cage door lightly. "We'll get him home soon enough. Oh, and Y/n?"

"Yeah?"

"You can let go of my hand now."

a/n: hmmm not sure if i like it but i need to write more fics for minho TT

the fast lane : part 4 (bangchan x reader x felix)

Summary: Welcome to the world of underground street racing. Chan is known for his flashy cars and confident attitude. You're new to the racing scene, eager but inexperienced. Felix is known for his sneaky tactics and charming demeanour. What happens when all three of your worlds collide?

Warnings: skz racer!au, fluff, chan cries, reader cries, everyone cries, mention of injuries, brief description of injury, trauma-ma-ma-ma wc 3.9 k

series masterlist

part 4 : unexpected contact

"Minho, wake up!"

Y/n sank to her knees beside him. Minho's outline was blurred through the haze of Y/n's tears. She placed a hand on his shoulder; it was cold, almost lifeless.

She should call someone- who was she even meant to call? The arena was empty and the sky was beginning to dim in deep gloaming tones. Looking down at Minho again, she shook him uselessly, squeezing his shoulder and pressing her palm pleadingly to his clammy, tearstained face.

"Please, Minho..."

His eyes fluttered but he showed no sign of movement beyond that. His face was so soft and delicate in sleep, eyelashes like a dusting of cocoa against his lids. The chiseled angles of his nose and jaw, the little white scars on the line of his throat and his temples. The perfect porcelain mask was cracked and Y/n tried desperately to piece it together, crying and coaxing and trying with shaking hands to do something, anything.

Nothing was working.

Y/n cupped his face, pressing her forehead to his. Hot, salty tears streamed down her face, dripping onto his cheekbones like tiny rivers of molten gold. She knew in her heart that he'd passed out from the distress. She stroked his hair, deep purplish-brown in the dimming light, and whispered to him sweet nothings she wouldn't remember and he wouldn't hear.

"Min..." she hiccupped, barely able to see through the onslaught of hot tears. "Please wake up."

She had felt two pairs of hands grasping her, ripping her away from Minho like a bandage being ripped off a half-healed wound. Blood pooled in Y/n's footsteps as she was hauled to the backstage area, pushed down onto the couch. She remembered her hands, sweaty with the emotional exertion, slipping against each other as she'd wrung them together, pacing behind the closed door.

She remembered wo people shouting frantically and a muffled groan, boyish and pretty. The slam of a door, weak protests, and then the revving of a car. When she'd finally been let out of the room, he wasn't there.

She remembered being told to go home.

She remembered returning to the arena the next day, and how he hadn't been there.

Or the day after that.

Or the day after that one either.

She remembered showing up six days later, having been told she had been signed up for a race the following Saturday. She'd just smiled weakly as she'd been informed, knowing that Minho had been the one to register her. That information only made her heart ache more as time passed.

She remembered asking around, only to be told that he'd been taken to get medical attention, and that no one knew where he was. She'd cried after that, curling up into a ball against the backstage door, where she'd fallen backwards and met Minho for the first time.

A pair of strong arms had coiled around her, comforting her, though later she couldn't seem to remember who it was. The image danced just out of reach, her memory fogged over by her aching longing and worry.

What if he never returned?

What if he'd collapsed because of what Chan had said?

Or worse, what if he'd-

What if-

Y/n flew bolt upright, gasping and shaking and covered in a thin sheen of sweat. She spasmed for a moment, flailing, before realising where she was.

The tuning shop's lights were off, the sun filling the space through the half-opened garage door. It was wide and spacious, several other cars lined up beside the one Y/n was working on. Minho's car, she reminded herself. It was his. And he'd been grudgingly trusting enough to allow her to keep it.

"I have another I can use," he'd said, refusing to make eye contact as Y/n had thrown her arms around him, squealing.

Her very own car.

Y/n smiled sadly, willing her eyes not to well up as she ran her fingertips along the chrome-green and black satin cast. Exactly like his motorbike, she remembered. He always did like matching items.

The sun cast a golden glow over the cement, reflecting and lighting up the area. The cheerful chattering of birds and the amiable talking of the occasional racers who passed by should have lifted Y/n's spirits.

Strangely enough, it hadn't.

She'd fallen asleep after about an hour of engine adjustments, too exhausted by her racing thoughts and neverending worries to do anything more than idly sit and adjust a miscellaneous bolt. Her fingers and the front of her shirt was stained with engine grease, though she wasn't entirely sure how it'd gotten there.

Y/n sighed and propped herself up against the car, elbows on her knees as she stared quietly out of the garage. She could see the wheels of cars and a little bit of the arena entrance from her. She had no will to be where she was right now, but she was kept in place by a bone-deep, aching tiredness that took a firm grip on every part of her body. She was more than content to sit here for the rest of the day and wallow endlessly in her weeping, abyssal sorrow.

"You gonna sit there all day?" A quiet, somber, accented voice shook her out of the haze of her thoughts. Almost. She was too caught up in her fugue state to even bother turning or acknowledging whoever was at the entrance.

Without looking to see who it was, Y/n let out a tiny, almost inaudible, half-hearted "mm" before relapsing into silence once again.

There was a sigh, then the quiet thudding of boots as whoever it was moved to sit down next to her. The intoxicating scent of a familiar, spicy, woodsy cologne filled her nostrils and she turned hesitantly, the small action unexpectedly taking most of her strength.

Chan gazed back at her, expression hard and solemn.

Y/n blinked, his presence finally registering in the fog of her mind. She opened her mouth, then closed it unsurely, shoulders tensing.

"Why are you here?" she whispered, eyes filling with a fresh wave of tears, though from what emotions or thoughts, she wasn't sure. "I haven't seen you since-"

"I know," he murmured.

There were dark rings around his eyes, and the space under his right eye was slightly red and purple, like he'd bruised the soft skin there. He looked pale and he hadn't bothered to style his hair, the strands falling in soft, thin waves past his forehead. Y/n wondered if he'd been having trouble sleeping, or if he'd slept at all.

Y/n turned her face away to hide the fresh tears streaming down her cheeks like little paths of fire. Her voice was quiet, hesitant, shaky.

"Are you going to shout at me too in whatever language you were spitting at Minho in?" Her voice was bitter, quiet, almost resentful.

Chan didn't reply.

Y/n knew in her heart that she had no right to be truly resentful towards him. After all, she had no clue what had transpired between him and Minho, but she couldn't shake the feeling that Chan had done something terribly, terribly wrong. And, Y/n reasoned with herself, even if he had, there was no reason for him to have snapped at Minho the way he did. Y/n fought the urge to seethe in the racer's face, though he showed no signs of aggression. He simply sat quiet and docile, seemingly reflecting as he watched the dappled sunlight from the garage cast patterns across the cement floor.

"Y/n," he whispered.

It was so faint she almost didn't catch it. Turning her face back towards him, she felt a small wave of surprise overcoming her features at the soft expression of her name. He was clearly struggling to maintain his cold, almost expressionless mask, the facade doing nothing to hide the thinly-veiled distress in his dark eyes. He looked so genuinely upset that Y/n couldn't help but turn her body towards him, tilting her head.

They stared at each other for a few seconds. It felt like ages had passed before Chan spoke, quiet and shaky like the way Y/n herself had spoken only moments before.

"Just- I can't tell you what happened, okay?"

Y/n blinked before an unexpectedly fierce scowl overcame her features, twisting it into a resentful, bitter mask. She recoiled minutely like she was disgusted. She felt disgusted, and she wasn't even sure why.

"Why not? You know, after all, I don't deserve to know why my friend collapsed, or why you yelled at him in the first place, or why you're such a jerk, but you know what, it's fine. It's fine, Chan."

Her voice came out sharp and spiteful, reminiscent of the sound of crashing, shattering glass. A glistening shard flew from her mouth and embedded itself in Chan's chest in a clean, swift swipe. He looked taken aback at the sudden harshness of her tone, looking almost guilty, and the remorseful, stupefied expression on his face was like a dagger to Y/n's heart, a clean, white slice too fresh and painful to fully comprehend.

Y/n knew she was projecting, knew she should hold back since Chan was so clearly distressed, but she couldn't help herself. She couldn't help stepping back hastily when Chan rose to his feet and moved soundlessly towards her, his hands out in front of him like she was a wild, untamed animal he was trying not to spook.

Y/n couldn't help it when she batted his hands away with surprising sharpness, glaring up at him like she was attempting to burn laser holes through his skull. She couldn't help it when Chan swiftly stepped closer, expression desperate like the air of a man who knew he was losing his audience.

Or his sanity.

Or perhaps both. One could never really know nowadays.

What Y/n did know was that she wanted nothing to do with Chan, or what he had done. Not until he had simply just proved to her that he hadn't intended to hurt Minho the way he had. He was Y/n's first real friend, the first person to want to know her, truly as she was. Minho, who wanted Y/n with all her complications, worries, desires.

Minho, who listened to her stories, doing his best to keep up with her even when she got excited and spoke so fast she became dizzy.

Minho, who chided her as he ruffled her hair, his gaze lovingly scolding.

Minho, who had once driven her, a complete stranger home, simply because he was worried for her safety.

Minho who dragged her to the cafe after every practice, who drove her home, every time smelling of cinnamon and vanilla.

Minho, the sadist, the feline-eyed racer, the embodiment of untarnished strength and quiet confidence.

Minho, the pretty mask of ivory porcelain and dripping gold.

Minho, and her. Her.

Just her.

Y/n burst into tears.

Chan's arms were suddenly on her shoulders, her biceps, skating across the fabric of her jacket, wrapping around her waist until she sunk to the floor in his arms, a shattered, broken mess of glass and tears. Her knee scraped the cement through her ripped jeans but she didn't feel it, clinging to Chan even though all she wanted to do was push him away. A loud sob escaped her mouth and she buried her face in his jacket as his arms coiled around her even tighter, almost protectively. His hand brushed her knee, readjusting it gently so it didn't press against the ground, his retracting fingertips stained lightly with her blood.

Y/n closed her eyes tight, so tight, like if she did it hard enough Minho would suddenly reappear and take Chan's place. She was a swirling, confused mess of overwhelming agony and longing sadness. Y/n did not know how it felt to drown in a dark, lonely ocean, but she supposed this is must what it would have felt like. Sinking like a stone in a sea of doubt, gasping for oxygen but instead dousing her insides in the fresh, painful frigidness of her situation.

She was barely aware when Chan adjusted himself to lean against the car again, Y/n in his lap. She clung to him, the weeks of maintaining the nonchalant facade disappearing in the unexpected comfort of his embrace. Turning her head to the side, overwhelmed by sudden dizziness from her emotional onslaught, she dimly noticed that the sleeve of her jacket was wet, soft, dark patches making patterns on the fabric like the first few raindrops at the beginning of a storm. It took her several moments to comprehend the fact that Chan was also crying.

His face was buried into the crook of her neck, nuzzling into the juncture, soaking it with his tears. Strangely, Y/n didn't mind, too preoccupied with the combined vulnerability of the situation. She stopped sniffing, blinking to remove the blurry tears from her vision. A quiet, repeated whimper came from her shoulder, Chan's voice muffled by the fabric and the force at which he was burying his face into her neck.

"Please, don't go... Stay with me, I'm sorry, I should never have done this, please-"

Y/n stilled, trying to understand through the aftermath of her tears. She wasn't sure if he was talking to her, or reliving a memory of someone, or something else. Maybe he was talking to Minho, or another close friend. It was impossible for Y/n to tell.

He was pleading.

"Chan?" Y/n whispered, voice raw and cracked. A sudden realisation dawned on her. She knew it was completely outside the bounds of propriety to interrupt his whimpering pleas but she couldn't let the thought remain unsaid. Gathering her courage, she touched his shoulder. He lifted his head slightly, indicating that he was listening. Or maybe he just needed air, having shoved his face into her shoulder for so long. But Y/n took the opportunity as it came, though a little shakily.

"It was you, wasn't it?" She whispered almost inaudibly. "The night I cried backstage, a few days after Minho collapsed.. you were the one who held me."

Chan nodded infinitesimally, almost guiltily, like he'd been caught. A choked sob ripped out of his lungs, his eyes glazed, and Y/n opened her mouth, unsure. He was clearly in pain, and Y/n had a strong feeling it wasn't the physical type. Chan murmured something shakily in Korean before pressing his head to her shoulder again, shoulders heaving with the force of his tears.

They sat like that for a while, Y/n eventually feeling bold enough to reach up and stroke his hair lightly. It was like pinfeathers beneath her fingers, softer than she could have ever imagined. Chan's cries quieted after a while, and so did Y/n's halfhearted sniffing, leaving the both of them clinging to each other, the way a person drowning in the sea might cling to a piece of debris.

It should have felt strange, considering that Y/n didn't even know Chan well, but she felt too boneless and spent to currently care about physical boundaries. And so did he, clearly feeling careless enough to run his fingers lightly up and down her spine, not daring to go past her middle back. The sense of affinity hanging in the atmosphere descended like a cloud upon Y/n and Chan until the advancing, rhythmic sound of footsteps sounded from the corridor outside. The door handle turned and Y/n hastily scrambled off Chan's lap, unceremoniously falling on her ass beside him. Chan smoothed a large, veiny hand through his hair just as the door opened.

To Y/n's enormous surprise, a cat came strolling through the doorway, looking around inquisitively before moving to lie down in the sunlight. Chan spluttered before pointing to the doorway, confused.

"Whose footsteps were those, then?" he stuttered, looking at Y/n as if she might have known the answer.

She simply fought a smile and shrugged back before standing up, and slowly moving closer to the cat. The dark, jet black fur shone honey brown and was flecked with gold under the wash of sunlight. Y/n stroked its back gently, feeling the cat's satisfied purr rumble up from its throat. It mewed at Chan as he settled on the other side, his long legs folded up to his chest. He leaned forward, petting the cat, and his knee brushed Y/n's. The touch sent a jolt through her and Y/n felt heat rise in her cheeks, petting the cat a little faster to hide the crimson splotches on her face. If Chan noticed, he didn't say anything, having apparently come to a conclusion that the footsteps outside the door must have been someone else.

Y/n pressed her lips together to stop herself from bursting out in questions. The moment was quiet and almost intimate, and Y/n felt like she'd be ruining it if she bombarded the dark-haired racer with questions. Looking down at the cat as it tilted green eyes at her, she smiled and scratched it lightly behind the ear. It looked a little bit like Minho; inquisitive, quietly confident eyes and fur the same shade as his hair when it hit the light. Y/n felt a pang in her chest and turned to Chan. Now or never, she supposed.

"Chan?" she whispered, not for the first time.

He responded with a "hm", seemingly distracted by the cat.

"Do- do you know where Minho is? Is he okay?"

Chan turned to her. Y/n's breath caught; his eyes had lightened to a dark brown, the sun casting an almost glowing sheen over his tanned skin. His eyes were rimmed in red and tear tracks stained his cheekbones like the hollowing path water makes through the ground, and the water caught the light, sparkling when he blinked at her. The slight bruise under his eye was rosy and pale purple. His hair, however un-styled and messy it was, swept down over his forehead in a way that strangely made Y/n's heart thud far faster than it should have.

Chan opened his mouth to speak. "He's-"

"Minho's fine. At home, resting." A voice sounded from the doorway. A slim, agile-looking racer was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. He had an air of good nature, with his hair dyed a dirty blonde, and the dark roots growing out under the strands. His eyes were wide and dark, yet they were sparkly with a mischievous light that glinted as he tilted his head at Chan. There was silence between the three, until the man clicked his fingers, the cat rising from its position like a sleeper agent and padding to the racer's feet. It wound itself between his legs, pawing at the thick silver zips on his boots. The man reached down and gently picked the cat up, stroking it and whispering. Y/n watched the man, fascinated, though Chan looked politely unfazed.

"Was it you making those heavy footsteps before?" Y/n asked timidly.

The racer simply nodded, not taking his eyes off the cat. Y/n's gaze traveled down to where the cat's dark, fluffy tail flicked at the waist level of the man. The racer's physique was slim and lean, his shoulders broad, chest tapering down to a slender, pretty waist that Y/n was almost jealous of. He was wearing a plain black short-sleeve mesh shirt, tucked into combat pants similar to Y/n's own. He was fairly short, just like Chan and Minho, yet tall enough that Y/n figured if she stood, he would be able to look down into her face.

The racer tilted his head, noticing Chan's gaze and Y/n's stare. He gave Y/n a million-watt bright, cheeky grin, eyes slitting with the exuberant movement, before his gaze slid back to the cat. She liked him instantly.

"I didn't think she would wander here," he said quietly, still smiling, referring to the cat. He tapped its nose softly but cheekily before moving to sit right next to Y/n. His knees took up most of her personal space, but she found that she didn't mind, feeling more curious than anything. He looked up at Y/n, poking her cheek lightly.

"Why you crying?" he said curiously. "Yah, Chan, what'd you say- oh, you're crying too, alright... are we just having a quick breakdown sesh in here? Cool, cool, cool."

Y/n heard Chan sigh. Turning her head just enough to see him out of her peripheral, Y/n watched as he leant back on his hands, stretching out his legs in front of him. He looked relieved, and Y/n wondered if he was glad that the cat-wielding racer on her other side had provided a welcome distraction from the previous conversation. Fighting a sigh herself, Y/n turned to the cheeky-looking man before reaching out to lightly ruffle the cat's fur.

"Are you friends with Minho?" she said softly, glancing up at the man. He nodded with a small "mm" before gently tugging on Y/n's hand, directing it to the spot behind the cat's ears. Surprised at the sudden contact. Y/n watched as the cat purred loudly at the feeling of her fingertips brushing its ears. The man chuckled before letting go.

"Minho and I have been close friends for a long time," he said quietly before glancing at Chan. "How are things, you know, after-"

"Things are fine," Chan's voice was tight, strained. Y/n tensed involuntarily.

The man sighed, voice softening, before he turned to Y/n. "If you want to know about Minho, he's fine. He's at home, recuperating. I went to see him yesterday just to drop a few things off for him, and I'm going again tonight, if you want me to say anything to him from you."

Y/n shook her head lightly at his offer, polite and appreciative. "Thank you, but I would much rather he rest, and come back healed. Do you know when he's coming back, by the way?"

"Probably within the next few days," Chan interrupted blandly. "He's never away for long. Too worried about you."

Y/n spluttered. "Me? What do you mean-"

The racer interrupted, laughing nervously before shooting Chan a glare, unbeknownst to Y/n. His voice tightened.

"Don't worry. Minho will be back soon. And he'll be happy to find out there's a stray hanging around the arena too. He loves cats," he scratched the cat's dark fur with a smile. "Oh, and I'm Jisung."

Y/n nodded. "I'm Y/n."

Jisung shot her another smile, bright enough to outshine the sunlight filtering into the garage. It dimmed slightly as Chan got up with a huff, brushing off his clothes. His eyes were suspiciously glassy and Y/n made to take his hand, voice coming out shaky but concerned.

"Chan, wait, where are you going-"

She moved to stand up too, hand still outstretched. She only got about halfway, crouching, before Chan took her hand as if on impulse, squeezing it quickly but gently before hastily leaving the room. The garage door swung shut behind him.

Y/n froze in position, hand tingling from the unexpected but welcome contact. A sudden rush of heat flooded to her cheeks and she gulped, that familiar pit of strange, fluttering tenderness settling in the pit of her stomach.

Jisung pointedly looked away.

a/n: this took way too long oops

the fast lane : part 3 (bangchan x reader x felix)

Summary: Welcome to the world of underground street racing. Chan is known for his flashy cars and confident attitude. You're new to the racing scene, eager but inexperienced. Felix is known for his sneaky tactics and charming demeanour. What happens when all three of your worlds collide?

Warnings: skz racer!au, fluff, soft minho, brief mention of a past injury (read part two for context if you haven't already) reader gets tangled up in a mess, angsty chan and minho wc 3.2 k

series masterlist

part 3 : porcelain and gold

Y/n groaned for the millionth time, banging her forehead on the wheel. Her hands clenched the cool leather beneath her fingertips and she let out a heaving sigh, squeezing her eyes shut.

The arena was bright and silent, glaring floodlights casting an almost blinding glow onto the lined up cars. The road was cool and damp, fresh from the light rain. The sky was murky with early-morning fog, shades of yellow and orange peeking out from behind the clouds. Y/n could distantly hear birdsong and the noise of the city upstreet, but right now, everything was quiet. Racing on the empty track, devoid of any obstacles or cars reassured Y/n a little, and she knew that if she made a mistake, nothing too bad would happen. But she still felt tense.

Sighing and starting the car again, she drove to the side tarmac, rolling down the window and cutting the revving engine.

Minho leaned down, forearms resting on the window frame. He tilted his head and pressed a couple fingers lightly into her shoulder, firm but gentle. Y/n looked up.

"That was better," he said quietly, nodding.

Y/n sighed, defeated. "It's not good enough-"

Minho interrupted, "Do you think I would have offered to get up this fucking early to train you for no reason? No. You're doing well, okay? It's just the turns that you need to work on."

Y/n bit her lip, fighting the rising pit of anxiety in her stomach. Opening the door, she stepped out and leaned against the cool surface of the car, trying to slow her breathing. Minho said nothing, simply letting her recuperate. When Y/n finally opened her eyes, she looked straight up at the man standing in front of her, eyes tired but sincere.

"I really do appreciate this, Minho, but I don't feel that I'm getting any better. It just feels like I'm going in circles."

Minho blinked. "You are going in circles. That's the whole point."

Y/n's mouth lifted up at the corners and she chuckled, punching the man lightly on the shoulder. He grinned and leaned against the car- his car- next to her.

Y/n had decided to take a couple days' break from racing, instead focusing on getting back to 100 percent. The cut in her neck had healed slowly, leaving her with nothing but a small, white scar on her nape. Her head felt better too, no longer bruised or sore. Since the street races ran almost every night, Y/n had decided to go back a couple days after the night when Minho had dropped her home.

She'd found him lurking around the backstage arena, watching the races. He had looked up in surprise, barely-masked, thankful relief, and something else. Some glint in his eyes that Y/n couldn't quite pinpoint. He'd unexpectedly smiled when Y/n had walked up to him and shyly proffered him a lollipop, exactly like the one he'd been sucking on the night she hit her head. Y/n remembered the way he'd almost immediately stuffed it in his mouth, smiling around the thin, white stick.

You'd both spent the night up in the arena stands, out of the light and out of the other racers' sight. Just quietly observing, testing the waters around each other. Y/n had felt tense at being in such close proximity with him, but it had slowly melted away over the next few hours.

Minho was actually quite funny. In a sadistic, sarcastic way, but Y/n adored it nonetheless. He was quiet and intellectual, but ambitious and unafraid. He was a contradiction in all of the best ways.

She'd continued visiting him at the arena most nights, and you would both often end up in the stands, talking into the early hours of the morning about various things. But as much as they talked, Y/n continued to feel as if she didn't know much about him at all. Minho had a way of dodging questions smoothly and turning them on her, often so seamlessly that she didn't even realise until she replayed her interactions with him in her mind later on.

This little routine of visiting had continued for about a week and a half, and Y/n was simply content to keep it that way. But Minho had other ideas, telling her one night that she'd benefit from training instead of just winging her races. Y/n had denied it, retorting with the fact that she had no one to teach her. She'd thought about asking Chan, but she didn't trust him at all, and besides, he seemed to be too busy working on or fixing his car, racing (and winning, unfortunately), and flirting with the pretty women fawning over his racecar. She had told Minho about the ordeal with Chan the first night they'd met, and how cocky he was. Minho had simply nodded.

"We used to be close friends," he'd told her. "But we don't talk anymore."

Then he'd changed the subject.

Used to be. Y/n wondered if something had happened between them. Did they fall out? Did they decide not to talk anymore for some unknown reason? Or did they both just choose their separate pathways and slowly lose their connection with each other?

Y/n wanted so badly to ask Minho about what had happened, but it felt wrong, almost demanding. Seeing as he had been so kind to her, Y/n felt that it was rude to ask him something so personal, even if she wasn't sure why he had decided to befriend her in the first place. And if she was being honest, Y/n also felt that he wasn't really the kind of person who would welcome such a personal question with an open heart and mindset.

She also wasn't really sure if she and Minho were friends. Sure, he was nice and all, but could she really trust him? What if he was just like Chan? What could he possibly be trying to achieve by befriending her?

No, Y/n shook her head. He wasn't like that, she was sure of it.

Said man's voice snapped her out of her thoughts. Blinking up at him, she stopped dead in her tracks. She'd been so lost in her thoughts that she hadn't even realised they'd left the arena.

They were standing in front of a little cafe. Y/n recognised it briefly, realising she'd passed it so many times before during her walks to the arena. She'd never stopped to look at it. It was quite pretty, and-

Minho flicked her forehead.

"Ow," she whined, hands pressing over the sore spot. "What'd you do that for? And why are we here-"

Minho rolled his eyes. "Well, I flicked your forehead because you've been in your head all day. You didn't even realise when we left the arena. I'm not sure you even knew that you were walking. And secondly, I'm hungry and this place has good food. Come on."

He took her hand and tugged her inside, the little bell above the shop door tingling. He led her to a little table booth in the far corner, pushing her lightly to sit down. It was a light push but Minho's standards, but Y/n knew that sometimes he forgot his own considerable strength and she almost stumbled, landing on the cushioned booth seat with an oof. Minho disappeared for a few minutes and Y/n realised he'd gone to the front to get something to eat. She hadn't brought money with her to buy anything, but she wasn't really hungry, so she sat back and looked out the window, waiting for him to return.

The cafe was modern but cute, boho-chic furnishings making up the majority of the wooden tables and chairs. The rest of the tables and chairs were white, and it all contrasted nicely against the various, lush, potted plants spilling their vines and leaves down wooden, high-set shelves. The counter up the front had a display glass lining its expanse, and behind it were stocked all sorts of pastries and other food. The place was pretty much empty and Y/n wondered why before realising that it was extremely early. Not even caffeine-lovers came down to buy their daily coffee this early. The lights were off, and there was no need for them to be on, since the sunlight spilling into the cafe from the large windows illuminated everything in a soft, golden glow. Y/n began to feel sleepy.

Minho walked up, holding two mugs and a slice of cheesecake on a pretty silver tray. He set it down and pushed one of the mugs towards her. The rich scent of vanilla and cinnamon wafted into her face, filling her lungs with a pleasantly soft, warm, and spicy aroma. She inhaled deeply before looking up at Minho questioningly.

"Is this for me?" she said quietly, almost hesitantly.

He took a big gulp from his own mug before setting it down and inclining his head. "Yeah."

Y/n felt a warm flush tingle on her cheeks. "You didn't have to, Minho."

He rolled his eyes and took another gulp from the mug. "You're right, I didn't have to, but I wanted to. But if you don't want it, feel free to starve," he took one of the forks from the tray and cut the cheesecake slice into two halves, putting one on his tea plate and pushing the other half towards her. Y/n smiled.

"Cheesecake?"

Minho nodded. "Mmm. My friend loves it. I always order it when I come here. Reminds me of him."

Y/n smiled sincerely, staying quiet. She filed away this unexpected piece of personal information into a hidden chamber of her heart. The last thing she wanted to do was scare him into closing up again, and she nodded her head in acknowledgement before taking a sip from her mug.

The sweet, intoxicating heat of vanilla foam and the spicy, gingerbread-like taste of cinnamon flooded her body and she sagged back into the booth seat.

"Oh," she groaned. "This is so good..."

She heard Minho chuckle. Feeling a little bolder, she sat upright again and glanced at him curiously. He was dressed in black leather, a dark grey hoodie under his leather jacket. She could hear his combat boots absentmindedly tapping on the floor. His hair shone a lighter purplish-brown under the sunlight spilling onto the table, and his eyes were lightened to a honey brown. Y/n noticed his hands fiddling with the handle of his mug, the fingertips running up and down the smooth, ceramic surface. Y/n wondered if he was nervous, or perhaps upset about something.

"Min, are you okay?" she asked gently and quietly.

"Hmm? Yeah, sorry," he blinked at her, as if he'd snapped out of a daze. Y/n felt a knot of worry settle in the pit of her stomach, and feeling brazen, she reached out and placed a slender, much smaller hand over his. Heat from his hand flooded into hers.

Minho looked up in surprise, his fidgeting stopping. They locked eyes for a moment before Y/n pulled her hand away slowly, unsure of his reaction. She kicked herself mentally, worried she'd overstepped a boundary.

To Y/n's surprise, he chuckled. He didn't move his hand or snap at her like she had expected him to. He looked her right in the eyes, and Y/n swore for a second that there was a flash of gratefulness in his gaze. Y/n's palm froze and she smiled back, almost uncertainly.

Then, to complete this entirely unlikely scenario, Minho took her hand, calloused fingertips brushing her wrist, and placed it between his palms. Again, he was firm and gentle; not too much force, nor too little. Simply steady and reassuring.

Heat flooded Y/n's cheeks. She hadn't expected that he would be so open to her affection. He noticed her scarlet cheeks and smirked, his voice coming a little lower than before.

"You called me Min."

Y/n squeaked in embarrassment and looked away, flushing. She attempted to pull her hand out of his grip, but he was unrelenting.

"It-it was just a heat of the moment thing," she stuttered.

Minho laughed, the sound light like the foam in her mug. "Heat of the moment? Are you sure that's the phrase you were going for?"

"Shut up."

Minho chuckled before settling back into the booth seat. "It's fine, by the way."

"What is?"

He huffed a little. "I don't mind you calling me Min. But not in a sappy, lovey-dovey way, got it?"

Y/n lifted her mug to her mouth in order to hide her smile.

-

Minho opened the door to the passenger seat of his racecar, slamming the door shut. He didn't bother putting his seatbelt on, and Y/n chided him before revving the engine and speeding off. They'd returned to the arena after spending almost two and a half hours in the cafe, both of them having been too caught up in their animated conversation to notice the time passing by.

The arena was still empty, and the afternoon sun shone high in the sky. The floodlights hadn't turned on yet, and it was the sun that caught the sleek angles and edges of Minho's car as Y/n steered it around the arena track. Her hands gripped the smooth leather of the wheel and her feet danced across the pedals as Minho instructed her through the turns.

"Good, that's it- turn a little more, angle the car."

Y/n did as he said, fingers digging into the steering wheel as she sped up and executed the turn perfectly.

Minho let out a whoop of triumph and Y/n laughed in disbelief, pulling the car to the side of the track. She stumbled out and so did Minho, who swooped her up in a sudden, unexpected hug.

"Took you long enough," he said, grinning. He set her back down onto the tarmac, cheeks flushed. Whether it was in exhilaration or something else, Y/n didn't know. She was too happy to care.

The laughter died down and Y/n gazed up at Minho, his dark eyes locking with her own. They both stood there, Minho's arms encircling Y/n's waist where he'd lifted her, and her arms clutching his broad shoulders where she'd held on. He looked so pretty, the sun smoothing all his features into ivory porcelain and molten gold. Y/n saw his cheek tuck in slightly, like he was biting the inside of it. He leaned down slightly, and opened his mouth to say something, a slight flash of guilt flickering in his eyes, and then-

"What a performance."

Y/n and Minho both jerked their hands off each other like they'd been caught doing something wrong.

Chan was walking across the tarmac towards them. He was clapping slowly and the sound echoed throughout the arena, causing an unpleasant chill to run down Y/n's spine. One of Minho's hands was still on her waist and she felt it tighten infinitesimally around her hip.

Chan reached them, smirking. He had put his hands into the pockets of his racing suit, the same black and red one he'd worn the night Y/n had met him. This time, she disliked him even more.

Chan's smile faded as his eyes flitted to Minho. Y/n glanced up at her friend just as his hand dropped from her waist. He looked suddenly pale.

"Minho?" she said hesitantly. But he didn't seem to hear, his eyes fixed on the racer. Y/n saw the lines of his shoulders tense just as Chan spoke.

"I didn't think you'd have the guts to show up here, Minho," his voice was cool and calm, yet tinted with an undertone of menace.

"I've been here spectating most nights."

"I know," Chan's voice lowered. "I meant here. On the tracks. You know, after..."

Y/n heard Minho suck in a breath.

Chan was seemingly oblivious to the tense atmosphere. Stepping closer to Minho, he looked him dead in the eyes. Y/n swore she could have cut the tension in the air with a knife. She stumbled back unsurely as Chan's shoulder nudged her as he passed. He was so close to Minho, so close that Y/n could see that there was only a few centimeters worth of space between them. She could see Chan trembling and she took another step back, unsure if they were about to fight, or worse.

Minho had gone as still as a statue, and Y/n could see the cracks appearing in his nonchalant facade. Chan was still too, but in an entirely different way. Where Minho was tense, Chan was shaking.

Like he was holding back.

Y/n heard a string of unfamiliar, garbled words come out of Chan's mouth and she shook her head a little, frowning, before she realised Chan was speaking a different language. It sounded Japanese, Korean maybe? She wasn't sure. A wave of guilt washed over her. They clearly did not want her to understand, or become a part of whatever it was they were fighting over. It didn't look much like a fight, nor a disagreement. Y/n had no clue what it was, but she knew it was something serious.

Chan spoke again, this time with a hint of venom in his tone. Even though she couldn't understand what he was saying, she could clearly tell he was blaming Minho for something. Minho looked like he was about to cry, or run away, or hit Chan. Or all three.

With a final spit of venom-laced Korean, Chan turned and stormed away, not sparing Y/n a second glance. She stumbled a step back, feeling a nauseous mix of guilt, anger at Chan, worry for Minho, shameful curiousness at both, and more than all of that, fear. Taking a second to come to herself, she turned to her friend, unsure of whether to speak. The sun had set, and Minho's features were no longer ivory and molten gold. The dawning twilight had hardened his face into a mask of cracked stone, the haphazard gaps run through with dripping silvery gunmetal. Y/n realised with a startled confusion that he was crying.

What had Chan said to him, she wondered. Turning back to the direction Chan had stormed off in, she bit her lip, trying to decide between consoling her friend and asking the other clearly angry racer if he was okay. She disliked Chan, but the stark deviation from his cocky, ambitious, flirty demeanor to the solemn, almost devastated expression he'd held as he spat made Y/n's heartstrings twitch. She couldn't help but feel as if she'd tangled herself up in a much bigger problem, and the fine hair on the back of her neck and her arms stood up at the thought. Her blood began to frost over in her veins, and she felt upset for some reason, like the entire dispute had been her fault. A dull, ugly thud echoed from behind her.

Minho had collapsed to the ground.

a/n: ooooooohh.....

omg how about artist!reader trying to teach changbin how to paint/draw, would be so cute!! idk but when i draw i love to make au of me with my friends, like spidersonas, or tlou yk? do as you wish 💥

hey anon ! i love this, as an artist myself i would be so excited to teach any of skz how to draw/paint (aside from hyunjin ofc, he's so great at it lol) here you go love <3

sunflower - seo changbin

pairing: seo changbin x reader

summary: you decide to try and teach changbin how to paint

genre: fluff, non-idol! au, crack, reader is the artsy type, changbin tries his best lol

a/n: comments are appreciated <3

"Binnie, that's not how you hold the paintbrush-"

"But I like holding it like this!"

You sigh and fight a smile as you reach across and attempt to adjust Changbin's grip on the paintbrush. He's holding it in his fist, all his fingers curled around it, a bit like the way a murderer would hold a knife.

Hopefully he doesn't end up trying to stab anything with it, you think. That brush was really expensive.

Changbin whines as you take the brush out of his grip and show him how to hold it, swiping a few experimental strokes of red against his canvas.

"Like this," you say, handing it back to him.

He pouts but does as you say, attempting to swipe across the canvas just like you showed him. He manages to get the hang of it, his eyes widening. He laughs, the sound bright and surprised.

You laugh. "It works better like that, doesn't it?"

The bedroom floor is scattered with canvases, watercolour paint palettes, a box full of mismatched acrylic paint tubes, and various other artists' paraphernalia. You had pulled out the box of all your art stuff from the cupboard earlier, intending to paint for the afternoon. Changbin, who was bored, had coaxed you into letting him join you.

Now you both sat in the dappled sunlight filtering into the bedroom from the large window. The light cast a mahogany glow over the floor and the mess of various paints and watercolours seemed to reflect their bright colours onto the far wall in haphazard, colourful strokes and patterns. You and Changbin had a large canvas each, set and propped against the bed. Subconsciously, you realised too late that it might not be a good idea to paint near the bedsheets, but Changbin didn't seem to mind, so you let it go.

Your canvas was covered in varying shades of pastel greens, browns and yellows, a bouquet of sunflowers tied with a red ribbon. You were quite proud of it, having spent about an hour painting each individual petal of the sunflowers. It looked great.

Or better than Changbin's, at any rate.

His canvas was a mess of vibrant blues and pinks, two messy stick figures in the middle painted in thick strokes of black. One was taller than the other, and you smiled at his messy depiction. A drip of blue paint hit the floor, followed by a drop of pink. He'd put so much paint on his canvas it was all beginning to slide off. You hurriedly set your brush down and adjusted his canvas to lie down on the floor to prevent any more mess. Sitting up on your knees, you surveyed his canvas. Tilting your head, you looked at the man sitting beside you.

"What is it?" you asked gently, so as not to upset him.

Changbin grinned, a smear of pink on his cheek curving upwards as he smiled. He kissed your temple, then looked down at his work, obviously very proud. He laughed.

"It's us."

a/n: we love artist changbin ✊

how skz loves you - hyung line

pairing: ot8 hyung line x reader

summary: how skz hyung line would love you.

genre: fluff, non-idol! au, crack

a/n: want the maknaes ?

bang chan ♡

chan shows his love through constant care and attention. He always checks in on you, sending messages to make sure you’re okay, even when he's busy. He remembers the little things, like your favorite snacks or the way you like your coffee (if you drink it, ofc), and makes sure to have them ready for you. Chan is the type to notice when you’re feeling down before you even say anything, offering a warm hug or a quiet moment together to help you feel better. He loves to leave little notes or texts reminding you of how much you mean to him, often signing off with a simple "I’m here for you." Whether it’s making sure you’re bundled up before heading out into the cold or staying up late just to talk, Chan’s love is steady, reassuring, and always present in the smallest gestures <3

lee know ♡

his love is shown through his subtle, yet deeply thoughtful actions. He’s not always the most verbal about his feelings, but his love is evident in the way he takes care of you. He might quietly do things like make your bed in the morning or prepare your favorite meal without being asked. He’s also incredibly protective, always walking on the side of the street closest to the road or holding your hand in crowded places to keep you close. Minho also loves to surprise you with small, meaningful gifts—like a keychain from a place you mentioned wanting to visit or a plushie that reminds him of you. His teasing is also a sign of his affection, using humor and playfulness to make you smile. When you’re together, he’s always making sure you’re comfortable, from adjusting your pillow to turning off the lights when you’re too tired to move <3

changbin ♡

changbin expresses his love through a blend of playfulness and sincerity. He loves to make you laugh, always coming up with silly jokes or playful banter to brighten your day. His love language is often physical; he enjoys holding your hand, giving you tight hugs, or playfully wrestling with you just to hear you laugh. But beyond the jokes, Changbin is incredibly attentive—he notices when you’re stressed and will do his best to cheer you up, whether that’s through a spontaneous snack run or an impromptu dance party in the living room. He also loves to show off in small ways, like lifting heavy things for you or flexing his muscles jokingly, just to see your reaction. Despite his tough exterior, he’s soft at heart and isn’t afraid to let you see that side of him, always making sure you know just how much he cares <3

hyunjin ♡

Hyunjin’s love is shown through his artistic, romantic gestures. He’s the type to leave you beautiful drawings or poems, expressing his feelings in creative ways. He loves to take you on impromptu dates to art galleries, cozy cafes, or scenic spots where you can talk and enjoy each other’s company. Hyunjin is incredibly affectionate, often brushing your hair out of your face or holding your hand in a gentle, comforting way. He’s also very in tune with your emotions, offering a comforting presence when you’re feeling low. Hyunjin loves to spoil you with little surprises, like a bouquet of flowers just because he was thinking of you, or a handmade bracelet that he spent hours perfecting. His love is shown in the way he looks at you—his eyes filled with admiration and affection, as if you’re the most precious, beautiful thing in his whole entire world <3

a/n: comment for the maknae line version ♡

landscape - hwang hyunjin

pairing: hwang hyunjin x reader

summary: while hyunjin is gone on a trip, you decide to surprise him

genre: fluff, non-idol! au, reader described as the artsy type

a/n: thank you all sm for the support so far!! i woke up to 99+ notifications this morning, i'm so glad people enjoy my work 🥹

Your white shirt is streaked with another smear of peachy paint, right down the middle. Several other miscellaneous shades haphazardly decorate your front and back. Your jeans, to say the least, are permanently ruined. Your overall appearance right now gives off the vibes of an abstract painting that was left to dry, but then was accidentally dropped on the floor and forgotten about.

You couldn't care less.

Giggling to yourself, you reach up and swipe another streak of yellow across the wall. The room is a mess right now. A large white sheet is spread across the floor to protect the floorboards, and a load of different paint tins and cans are scattered throughout the room, crowding at your feet. Paintbrushes clutter the desk, and Lana del Rey echoes in the background, reverberating off the walls and swelling to fill the messy space. Almost every surface of the room is covered in paint and markers and pencils and a miscellany of other items that makes it look more like a art-dumping ground than Hyunjin's little art studio.

He's been gone on a work trip for the past few days, and without his presence to entertain you, you endeavored to start a project, something that would keep you busy until you returned. Safe to say, it certainly has.

You're currently painting a massive landscape across the back wall of the art studio, where it will best catch the light from the window opposite. The wet paint glows with the dappled sunlight that filters in through the window, making the rolling hills and fields of the painting look like they're under the summer sun. You asked Hyunjin beforehand about what he might do to decorate the studio, since the walls were bare and blank. He had simply laughed and kissed your nose, saying 'you decide, love.'

You're not really sure what he would think about the current mess on the wall. It's distinguishable, but you know it would have looked much better if he had been here to help. But you've tried your best, and it looks a lot better than you thought it would, so you continue, streaking sage and sky blue across the surface of the wall.

You've never felt so free. You understand why Hyunjin loves his craft so much, spending almost every free minute in this studio, with his paintbrush flicking expertly across the canvas and his slender, pretty hands tinted in reds and blues.

A sudden gasp from the studio door makes you drop the paintbrush. It clatters to the floor and you freeze, turning your head to the doorway.

Hyunjin stands, tall and elegant as always, both hands clasped to his mouth and eyes wide open. He's dressed in a smart, black suit, but his socks are mismatched and his hair is falling out of his hairstyle. One silver earrings clings to the lobe of his ear. He must have lost the other one, or been in the process of taking it off when he found you here in the studio, making an absolute mess on the walls.

But he doesn't look horrified at all. You thought at first he looked the way a parent might, when they walk into a room and find out their toddler has been drawing on the walls with coloured sharpies.

He looks delighted.

Rushing towards you, he sweeps you up in a hug, spinning around and laughing. You wriggle, not because you aren't pleased to see him, but because he's wearing a Versace suit and you're a mess of mismatched paints barely resembling a human being. He only holds you tighter, burying his face in your neck and streaking his cheek and hair with scarlet in the process. The scent of his spicy, woodsy perfume mixes with the smell of paint and turpentine, and you inhale deeply. He's bouncing on the spot, hands gesturing wildly and feet shuffling in a way that reminds you more of an excitable golden retriever puppy than your boyfriend. You're not sure if he's happier to see you or the half-painted wall. You open your mouth to express your surprise and delight at his sudden arrival, but are interrupted.

He squeals, hands flapping. "The WALL! Did you do it all by yourself? Oh, and you raided all my art supplies too- is that a landscape of Jeju Island, where we went last year? Oh, it is! I remember you stood there and i took photos of you- love, you really should have painted yourself into it, i would have loved that-"

You cut him off with a kiss. Pulling back, you whisper.

"Help me finish it? It doesn't feel perfect like i wanted it to..."

He's already stripping off his Versace jacket, throwing it to the paint-smattered floor.

"Hyunjin- why would you throw it on the floor, that's expensive-"

"Don't care."

He's already picked up your fallen brush, handing it to you and selecting one of his own. Crouching down, he delicately dips it into a tin of black paint and adds two little stick figures in the corner- a tall one with a paintbrush and a shorter one holding its hand. He changes brushes and gently dabs yellow and red to its face, similar to your face in its current state. It takes you a moment to realise that it's you and Hyunjin. He grins, setting his brush down.

"Now it's perfect."

a/n: don't forget to request ! likes and comments are so appreciated, and again, thank you for all the love <3

movie nights - leeknow

pairing: lee know x reader

summary: you and your boyfriend have a friday night tradition

genre: fluff, non-idol! au, little bit of crack, mild suggestiveness

a/n: hopefully this gains me some momentum... also do i call him leeknow or minho? who knows. (ha get it?) divider by @chilumitos

"Minho!" you shriek. "Give it back!"

Said man does not give it back, instead standing even higher on his tippy toes and holding your favourite plushie out of reach. A cheeky grin is stretched across his face. He holds the calico cat plushie just out of your grasp, swaying it back and forth.

You leap up onto the couch, almost slipping on the throw blanket draped haphazardly over its back, and stretch out towards minho. He steps back just as your fingertips brush the soft material and does a little dance, laughing at your reaction. The movie that was playing in the background has been long forgotten.

"Min," you whine. "Just give it back..."

Friday night movies had always been a tradition between you two. You both came up with the idea when you moved into your first place, celebrating the move-in with a movie and your favourite snacks. Every Friday after that, Minho would knock on your door, and you'd answer to a grinning cat, his arms laden with snacks and drinks. Then you two would pick a movie and cuddle as you watched it.

Sometimes you would poke fun at the characters and their actions, other times the atmosphere would be amiable and quiet. Not tonight.

You yelp as you slip off the couch, groaning when you hit the floor on your knees. Collapsing forward into the mountain of cushions, you glare up at Minho, huffing in defeat. He stands above you, still holding the plushie in the air, like he's not sure whether to drop it and ask if you're okay or continue dancing like the absolute madman he is.

You hope he does the first.

Safe to say, he does not.

Minho throws his head back and laughs so loudly it reverberates through the rooms. Then, as if it's an afterthought, he drops to his knees and tosses the plushie aside, scattering snacks and packets and drinks as he sits next to you. He clumsily knocks a few other things off the coffee table, rendered utterly unstable by his mirth.

You groan. "It's not funny."

He snickers, touching your arm gently. "It is a little."

You huff and roll over, facing away from him as you sulk. A haughty smile tugs at your lips as he prods your side, whining. Suddenly collapsing on top of you, he pokes your nose.

"Yeobo, stop ignoring mee...."

You groan and let out an oof as he shifts. He's gotten stronger and more muscly, which also means he's heavier (in the best possible way, of course). You can hardly breathe and a wheeze escapes you at the sudden realisation. Squirming away, you dislodge your legs and make a run for the plushie, scrambling across the floor. Minho yelps, grabbing your ankle. You squeal as he pulls you back, climbing up so you're both face to face. He smirks and grabs the plush with his long, slender arms.

"Minho, just-"

"Ah ah ah," he taps his lips, grinning. "Kiss. Then i'll give it back."

You sigh, and relent. He tastes like strawberry soda and fried chicken. His hand creeps to the back of your neck, stroking the shorter hairs there. You turn your head, breaking the kiss. Glaring at him, you sit up and smack him lightly on the arm.

"Now give it back."

Minho grins mischievously, and throws the plushie across the room. It lands somewhere down the hallway, and you crane your neck to see where it's gone. Your vision spins suddenly as Minho grabs your shoulders, pulling you back down onto the comfy pile of pillows and blankets. He smirks.

"Just one more kiss-"

"Minho!"

a/n: requests are open <3

galaxy - lee felix

pairing: lee felix x reader

summary: your boyfriend comes home to your cooking.

genre: fluff, idol! au, just sweet lixie

a/n: first fic! everyone cheer! *awkward silence*

You curse as you clumsily scatter sprinkles of cheese on the floor for the fifth time. It's taken half an hour just to prepare all the ingredients, and Felix is going to be back from the company any minute. A cheesy, almost spicy aroma floats around your apartment kitchen, mixing with the cold, crisp night air from the half-open window.

It rained earlier this evening. You think about how Felix must have sat at his desk, working away at lyrics and music with the other members. How he must have heard the rain and moved to the window, mouth tilting upwards as he watched the scattered, crystal raindrops thud heavily against the glass pane. You do the same thing now, wistfully staring out into the night, hair ruffling with the slight breeze.

You don't even realise you're smiling at the thought of it.

The earthy smell of petrichor floats into the kitchen as you move back to the stove, gently stirring the pot. It bubbles and sizzles, a fresh wave of the mouthwatering smell hitting you full in the face. Sure, it might look a little strange (maybe it's burnt...) but you know Felix will love it anyway. He always does.

He usually does the cooking most of the time, knowing your haphazard tendencies to drop things and clumsily hurt yourself. He would much rather cook than risk you getting hurt any day. The thought of his tenderness makes you smile again, and you're so lost in thought that you don't hear the faint sound of the door opening with a click. It's accompanied by the sound of Felix's usual sneakers, his favourite pair. He steps in quietly, careful not to trail water inside.

He peeks around the kitchen wall, watching you with a cheeky, loving smile on his face. You're bathed in golden light from the overhead lighting, casting an amber glow over your body and the various pots and pans scattering the stove. To anyone else, it might look like a mess, but to Felix, it's the equivalent of an angel standing in his kitchen, haloed by a wash of honey light.

He clumsily toes off his sneakers and socks, eyes fixed on your frame. You're still lost in thought, the bubbling of the pot causing enough of a distraction that you don't realise Felix creeping up behind you. He wraps his arms around your waist, making you drop the spoon. You twist in his grip, surprised and more than delighted to see him.

"Lixie! You're back!" You beam, and Felix's heart melts. His arms subconsciously tighten around your waist. When he speaks, his voice is deep and molten, flowing like water.

"Hey, sunshine. I missed you," he peeks at the pot over your shoulder, crinkling his nose as he smiles. "Whatcha cooking?"

A half-hearted, slightly awkward laugh leaves your lips. You look back at the pot, hand coming up to absentmindedly scratch at his blonde, pinfeather-like hair as you think. Your earlier haze of determination to cook something for your boyfriend had faded about half and hour ago, your rationality returning from its brief holiday.

"I'm not actually sure... um-"

He laughs, the sound swelling and filling the kitchen. It floats out into the night, rich and lilting. You think for a second that his laugh might mingle with the stars, creating unique galaxies and constellations that match the ones in his eyes perfectly. Twisting your head back, you give him a sheepish grin, fingertips lightly touching his freckles, dotted across his cheeks and nose like his very own galaxy. Your galaxy.

Felix kisses your nose. "I appreciate the effort, sunflower. I love you so much, you know that?"

You smile softly. "I love you too, but uh-" You turn back to the pot, which now smells unpleasantly burnt. "Maybe we should just order food instead."

Felix chuckles.

"Definitely."

a/n: how do we feel about this? do you guys want more? if so, go request! it would make my day <3

Wowwiieeee. I don't think I've ever been so infatuated with a story like this. I have never been one for fantasy or bxb smut but this is just so beautifully written. Your takes on humanity are so true and the way you spin it into this faerie fantasy web has me kicking my feet and giggling like an idiot. You are so genius. Ugh. Love love love. And the forget me nots flowers being the only ones left. Stop i wanted to cry. Maybe i did but shut up no i didn't

a trick of the light (chan/felix)

Chan wanders into a faerie ring during a hike. He is taken and enslaved by the faeries, and though he’s furious and dreams of escape, he can’t deny that the king catches his eye. But Chan shouldn’t want the very person holding him prisoner, should he? And regardless, King Felix couldn’t possibly be interested in a mere human.

Characters: Chan, Felix, Hyunjin, Jeongin, Minho

Genre: oneshot, smut, fae!au, faerie!felix/human!chan, falling in love

Warnings: it’s not dub-con per se (everyone wants everything that happens in sexual and romantic scenes) but there are some tricky elements. there is the question of the influence of magic, as well as the nature of any relationship between a captor and those they hold captive.

Rating: Explicit

Length: 25k

It takes five days, Chan is later told, of keeping him on sedatives, before he doesn’t resist. Everyone says they’re glad the delirium cleared, that he was able to fight through it and recover.

“Malnourishment and dehydration do terrible things to the brain,” the doctor tells him. “But typically the confusion dissipates once your body is no longer so exhausted.”

“I knew you were crazy, but not that crazy,” his little sister says, rolling her eyes, when she’s allowed in to visit. 

Chan lets her hug him. He lets his family believe it was just a momentary lapse—delusion brought on by exposure to the elements, just as the doctors say. That he stopped fighting because he stopped believing it. 

The truth is, he’s not sure what to believe anymore. He knows how it sounds; he saw the terror in his mother’s eyes when he tried to explain everything that happened, when he tried to make them understand as the nurses pinned him down and stuck him with drugs that put him under, that made him slow and weak so he couldn’t so much as lift a finger. And they’re right—it is crazy. But he can’t accept that it was just a hallucination, or a particularly vivid dream his starving brain had conjured up when he lay dying in the woods. 

It had felt so real. 

Keep reading

bad girl - h.hj

hello everyone!! this is my first skz fic on this acc so i hope u enjoy it!! please like, comment, reblog, or interact if you liked it!! photos are from pinterest and are not mine.

this is a strictly 18+ fic. minors do not interact.

wc: 1.8k

genre: pure smut, just a thousand words of filthy mouth hyunjinnie

warnings (if you are uncomfy with these topics please do not interact): afab!reader, fem!reader, offensive language (pussy, cunt, slut, fuckdoll, etc.), harddom!hyunjin, sub!reader, daddy kink, pet names (baby, baby girl), impact play using an object (spanking with ruler), fingering, piv, riding, unprotected sex (pls practice safe sex), cockwarming, mentions of other members, cream pie, mention of train being done to reader, mention of exhibitionism. if i am missing anything else please let me know!

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There were a plethora of things Hyunjin loved about you. He loved the way you eat snacks hunched over the trashcan with him at three in the morning, how you leave love notes around your shared apartment for when he wakes up and you’ve already left for work, how you’re okay with reading in silence beside him while he paints, how you swing both of your intertwined hands whenever you go on walks together, but there’s one thing Hyunjin loved about you that he wouldn’t dare gush about to anyone: he loves the way you submit to him in bed. 

That’s how you ended up here, face down on your bed, mini skirt flipped up exposing your bare ass to the only man that gets to see you like this. Hyunjin growled at the sight, smacking the already raw flesh before gripping you so tight you fear he’ll split you in half.

“Fuck my girl is so dirty,” Hyunjin groaned out, spreading your cheeks to admire your two tight holes. “All day today you’ve been wearing this pathetic excuse of a skirt that barely covers your ass with no panties underneath and for what? Did you want Jeongin to see your slutty pussy hm? Is that why you did it?”

When you only repled in whimpers, trying but failing to deny his accusation, Hyunjin brought his big muscly hand down on your ass once more. “When daddy asks you a question you answer it with words, baby girl.”

He continued his assault on your ass, not once stopping his pattern of spanking and groping, occasionally pulling your hips back so that you could feel his hard on through his grey briefs. The feeling of him against your sopping pussy made you sob into the pillow. You needed him to be inside you, to use you, but you knew you hadn’t deserved it yet, not for the stunt you pulled today. 

“No! N-no, I didn’t wa-want Innie to s-see! I wanted Daddy to see!” 

Your words caused your boyfriend to halt his movements. His silence was so loud you could hear your heart beating in your chest. Without a word, Hyunjin got up and walked over to his desk which was littered with tubes of paint and various other art supplies. The second you heard him rummaging in one of his drawers, you knew you had royally fucked up, but you couldn’t help but smirk silently at the outcome of your charade. 

You felt the bed dip behind you as Hyunjin tapped lightly on your calf. You were still in the same position as before, face burried in a pillow with your bright red ass stuck up high. 

“Come,” Hyunjin commanded when you turned your head to look at him. His expression was stone cold, none of the giggly, lovable man you usually saw before you. Hyunjin scoffed when he saw your face, blown-out pupils, and rosy cheeks despite the tears running down your face. His pathetic baby, he thought.

It was only when you crawled towards him, adjusting yourself over his knees did you see what he had retrieved at his desk. Looking so tiny in his hand was a wooden ruler, the same one that he uses every time you act up. 

“You know what’s gonna happen now right, slut?” Hyunjin questioned softly, running the thick wood up and down your raw flesh. 

“No more, please, you spanked me so much already,” you whimpered. “I’m s-so sorry, I di-didn’t mean to u-upset daddy.”

“Aww,” Hyunjin cooed, caressing the side of your face that wasn’t pressed against the mattress. “Daddy doesn’t care if you meant it or not, doll. You misbehaved and now you’re being punished, you know that’s how it works darling. Now, you know the word that’ll get daddy to stop right?”

When you grunted out your response, Hyunjin ran his unoccupied hand through your hair and placed a soft kiss on your temple. That was the last gentle touch he gave you before your punishment started. 

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After ten spanks across your ass and thighs, Hyunjin held you with you straddled his lap, cooing praises at you while he rubbed your sensitive behind with aloe vera. 

“You took your punishment so well, baby girl,” he whispered, kissing all over your face and neck making you squirm. You giggled in his arms, burying your face into the crook of his neck. You were still dressed in your fitted crop top and mini skirt, fuzzy over the knee socks squeezing your thighs tight. “You look so sexy in this outfit.”

The statement made you pull away from him and raise an eyebrow in question. “Says the man that just spanked me with a ruler for wearing this outfit.”

Hyunjin chuckled, peppering kisses up your exposed neck. For the first time since stepping into the bedroom, Hyunjin locked his lips with yours. His lips were hungry and desperate, almost as if not being able to kiss you was his own punishment.

The feeling of his hot breath on your skin made you relax back into his touch while he reverted back to speaking in hushed, seductive tones. “I love it when you dress like a slut for me, baby, but not in front of my members. You’re just lucky none of them saw your pretty pussy. I swear if anyone even got a glimpse of this wet cunt I would’ve made them watch me fuck you.” 

You squealed at his words. You loved it when Hyunjin let filthy words fall out of his pretty lips. The change in tone made you squirm, grinding your pussy against his half-hard cock once again. Both you and Hyunjin felt your pussy gush on his clothed cock as he continued. 

“Does my little slut like that huh? You like the thought of my members watching me wreck this pussy?” Hyunjin’s hand found its way under you, your slick heat sucking his fingers in and out of your hole with little resistance. 

Your moans filled the room as you bounced on his fingers, the sound of wet skin slapping only making you want to go faster. 

“Just like that baby, mhmm, this pussy is so fucking tight I can feel you clenching around my fingers. God, you’re such a cock hungry slut, aren’t you? You’re such a whore, I bet the boys would love using you.” Hyunjin watched where your core met his fingers, your wetness creating a messy puddle on his briefs. His fingers were drenched with your juices, resting the pad of his thumb on your clit as you continued to ride his hand. “Too bad you’re all mine, hmm, isn’t that right, baby?” 

“All yours,” You mumbled against his neck. “Only yours, Jinnie. Can I have more please? Want daddy to fill me up please.” 

Hyunjin chucked softly before kissing your forehead. Taking his hands off of you for a painful second, Hyunjin pulled his underwear down and filled you in one swift motion. The moans you let out were equal parts relief and pleasure as you bounced slowly on his cock. 

“Feels so good,” you slurred, slumping further down around Hyunjin, unable to hold yourself up any longer. “Help please, Jinnie. Need more.” 

“I got you, baby, just relax,” Hyunjin cooed, putting his hands under your behind to slowly move you up and down his length. 

After several heartbeats, Hyunjin couldn’t contain himself any longer, gradually picking up the pace in which he was bouncing you. 

“Harder,” you whined, clinging to your boyfriend for dear life. “I want you so deep inside me, baby. I need you to fill me full with your cum please daddy! Daddy, I need you please!” 

Hyunjin groaned at your request, unable to hold himself off any longer. “God you’re such a good little fuckdoll for me, you’ve been so good. I’m gonna fill this pussy to the brim, make sure you’re stuffed well with cum, how does that sound princess?” 

With a grunt, Hyunjin flipped you both so that you were under him, his large hands pushing your knees up to your chest allowing your pussy to be fully exposed to him. His gaze roamed your body slowly, teasing you with his eyes alone. His eyes clung to the swell of your breasts, trapped in the confines of your t-shirt, the peaks of your nipples taunting him.

“Please,” you whimpered. In a swift motion, Hyunjin took one hand off your leg to pull your skin-tight t-shirt up, letting your gorgeous tits fall out. With a groan, Hyunjin dove in, sucking at each nipple ferociously, making you gasp at the sudden action.

With your hands gripping his hair, Hyunjin plunged his cock into you, stretching you out deliciously. You gasped at the sudden stretch.

"This cunt is so fucking perfect," Hyunjin breathed, face still buried in your tits. "Don't know how long I'll last, baby,"

Hyunjin continued to hold your legs down against your chest, his deep strokes not breaking his original pace for a second. With one of your hands bunched in his hair and the other rubbing circles around your clit, you felt your climax build up quickly. After a particularly deep stroke, you let go of Hyunjin's hair and gripped his shoulders quickly, your orgasm washing over you as you chanted his name like a prayer. “I’m cumming, Daddy!” 

Hyunjin didn't halt his movements. If anything, he sped up his pace.

“Mhmm, that’s my good girl. Just a little longer okay? You’ve been so good. Daddy just needs a little bit more.” With a final thrust, you felt Hyunjin’s seed spread inside you, satisfying you completely. His moans and grunts were godlike, almost encouraging you to bring your pelvis forward to grind on his cock again, but you resisted the temptation. 

Remaining inside you, Hyunjin moved you so that you were facing each other on your sides, disregarding the fluids dripping onto the sheets. He held you as you played with the small hairs on the back of his neck, your heavy pants evening out together. You felt the pads of your boyfriend's fingers tracing shapes on your back, smiling silently to yourself when you felt the familiar pattern of his fingers drawing hearts and writing "I love you" both in English and Hangul amidst the random swirls.

Hyunjin felt good like this, and so did you, your bodies so intertwined that none of you could tell where your body stopped and his body started. That’s another thing Hyunjin loves about you, he supposes, that despite being your own entities separately, you also have your ways of making him feel as if you’re a part of him. Your soft chuckle pulled Hyunjin out of his thoughts. 

“You know now that I think about it,” You start. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you use a ruler for anything other than to spank me.” 

“Wrong,” Hyunjin replies with a smirk. “I just don’t use that ruler.” 

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thank you for reading!! my asks are open for requests, hard thoughts, or jus to chat!! ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚