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🎧= moon-ttokki-x !! ノ she her ๋࣭ ⭑⚝

彡 sfw writer - bts skz ults ⋆⸝⸝ call me ttokki .. 𓏲 ๋࣭ ˖

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⛓️ 𝔰𝔱𝔲𝔣𝔣 𝔦 𝔴𝔯𝔦𝔱𝔢: kpop fanfictions, currently only for stray kids. fluff, angst, comfort, hurt/comfort, domestic, and so on. you can see all the categories on my masterlist below .

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skz masterlist ✧ skz prompt list

(( requests currently open ))

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ttokki signing out...☆

dividers by @bernardsbendystraws | @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

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?

Low-key can I pls request Chris comforting reader on her period because I'm on my right now and I want him as my personal hot water bottle.

Thank you!!

omg first request!!

hopefully this meets your expectations hahah... i wrote reader having a really bad period... hopefully that's fine for you <3 feel better!

he comforts you on your period - bang chan

pairing: bang chan x reader

summary: you're struggling with your period and chan helps you out

genre: fluff, non-idol! au, comfort, lil bit angsty. mentions of undressing, feeling nauseous & dizzy, cramps and period pain, reader has a period (obviously)

a/n: comments are appreciated... and whoever's reading this, feel better! and eat some dark chocolate <3

You groan for the fourth time as another debilitating cramp whacks you right in the gut, followed straight after by a dizzying wave of nausea. You're helpless to do anything but whine and writhe weakly on the bed, tangling the sheets and causing uncomfortable lumps of the blanket to pool up around you. It's too hot, too cold, too much pain, too sharp, too dull, never-ending.

You can't even call for Chan.

He's working from home today due to the severe weather, shut in his little studio down the apartment hallway. The rain clatters and thunders against the windows and balcony door, speckled with tiny crystal shards of hail ice. He's probably busy working away at some song while on call with the rest of 3RACHA. You can picture him busily writing down song lyrics in his notebook, headphones and black cap askew on his head, and hand messily smudging the dark, scented ink of his words on the page. His pretty, dark eyes shining, wide and focused as he does what he does best.

That pleasing mental image of your boyfriend is quickly chased away by another wave of nausea and you curl in on yourself, fighting the desperate urge to scream with whatever you have left. You didn't bother taking painkillers when the first cramp hit this morning, thinking you could muscle through it. Every time, you think you can handle the pain, and every time, you're proven completely and utterly wrong. And now you're immobilised on the bed, unable to do anything but face the bloody wrath of your monthly cycle.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Groaning, you shift achingly slowly to the side, trying to alleviate the pain. For a moment, you consider calling for Chan, but you doubt you'd be able to shout loud enough, and more so, you don't want to disturb him. The comeback is soon, and he was stressed enough at not being able to go to the company after seeing the state of the weather. He'd woken you up with a kiss, ordered breakfast to be delivered to the door, and disappeared, only pausing to throw on a hoodie and his usual cap. The studio door had shut and you had heard no more. He's been working all morning. He had said to try not to disturb him unless you really needed something, but you understood. He had a lot to do. But...

Biting your lip guiltily, and then wincing at the dull pain pooling in your stomach, you do your best to slide off the bed. It doesn't matter how much it hurts; you need painkillers. And right now, Chan can't afford to be distracted, so you muster up all of your strength to sit upright.

One foot touches the cold floor, and then the other. Both hands fly to your stomach and you double over, hair brushing your knees as you wait for the dizzying nausea to pass. It feels like you're being slammed in the gut with a sledgehammer set on fire. Attempting to regain your bearings, you sit up and wait for a few minutes. The pain dulls for a few moments and so does the headache, so you shakily stand, reaching for the wall in case your knees give out. Walking to the kitchen is a colossal effort, and a slow one at that too. The short walk down the hallway feels like a year.

Finally slumping against the counter, feet numb from the cold tiles, you take a glass from the dishrack and fill it halfway with water, spilling most of it on the counter in your hazy, aching state. Your vision is spotted with stars as you reach up on tiptoes and open the medicine cabinet to reach the painkillers.

You swallow two and move to make your way back to the bedroom. Turning, you're suddenly hit with the most awful, searing, intolerable pain. You jackknife to the floor, knees throbbing from the solid impact as they thud against the tiles. Leaning heavily on the cabinet, you rest your forehead against the cool, slightly chilled surface, and feel a liquid smearing onto the cupboard door. Pulling away slightly, you realise you're covered in a sheen of sweat. Your clothes stick uncomfortably to your body. It's too hot, too cold, too much pain, too sharp, too dull, never-ending but even worse than before.

Your breath comes in short, sharp gasps, every heave sapping your energy. Sagging forward, you rest your face against the cool tiles, trying to stay conscious. Your surroundings blur out, replaced with an unpleasant echoing ring and the sound of Chan's footsteps.

Chan's footsteps?

He's holding his drained waterbottle in one hand and his phone in the other, eyebrows furrowing as he reads some lyric notes he typed earlier. Feeling quite pleased with himself, he turns into the kitchen and is immediately met with the sight of you slumped on the floor, coated in sweat and curled up like a dying insect in the summer.

His eyes widen and he drops to his knees, phone clattering to the side and waterbottle clanging loudly. The sound makes you wince.

"Love? Hey-" his warm, calloused hands run over your shoulders, panicked and wide-eyed. "What happened?"

You can't even respond.

Chan swears a few colorful, fluent phrases as he stands and dashes down the hallway, returning with a damp rag. He gently but hurriedly mops the sweat off your forehead and nape before tossing it aside and carefully lifting you into his firm, toned arms. Deadlifting you from the floor, he carries you back to the bedroom and sets you down gently, pulling the rumpled covers back. He rushes out of the room for what feels like hours but is probably only a few minutes. Hurrying into the bedroom, he sets a few things down on the bedside before gently freeing you from your sweaty clothes.

In another scenario, you would be embarrassed, but right now you can't care less. It feels freeing and the cold air in the apartment seeps into your body, providing a welcome coolness. He lifts a hot water bottle and places it onto your lower stomach, tucking it slightly into the waistband of your underwear to keep it in place. He presses down lightly and you groan weakly, the heat providing almost immediate relief from the aching.

You don't register what happens after that; only the feeling of the damp cloth sweeping over your forehead and neck and Chan's warm, gentle touch keep you connected to consciousness. He begins to sing softly, lulling you into the heavy, dreamless sleep of the sick. HIs voice floats in the air like a wisp, light and airy and lilting, yet deep, accented, and rich. You gather all your remaining strength.

"Channie," you croak.

He looks up, brows knitted together in worry. He stops his ministrations, hand hovering over your shoulder.

Tears well in your eyes. Whether it's from the jumbled mess that the morning has been, the maelstrom of hormones, emotions and guilt in your system, the debilitating pain, or Chan's seemingly endless love, you're not entirely sure. Your voice is an almost inaudible whisper.

"I'm sorry i disturbed you. I went to take painkillers so i wouldn't disturb you because i know you're busy with the comeback-"

He cuts you off, expression gentle yet concerned. "I know i was busy, but you should have called me, love. Look at the state of you."

A hot tear spills down your cheek. "I'm sorry, Channie."

He shushes you, stroking your hair back from your forehead. "Don't apologise, yeah? If you need me, i'll come to you. Please don't ever feel that you're a bother to me or that you're disturbing me. Especially when it comes to things like this," he rubs your hipbone softly with his thumb, in soothing, relieving circles.

"Channie, can you cuddle me?"

He smiles softly. Pressing himself to your back, he bends his knees, spooning and tucking you into his chest. A surge of intoxicating warmth seeps pleasantly into your body and you sigh contentedly. His toned arm snakes around your waist, pressing the hot water bottle to your stomach so you don't have to hold it there yourself. Kissing your neck softly, he nuzzles into your shoulder, telling you to sleep and that he would be there when you wake up. It feels so warm, so cosy, so safe. But the guilt of having tore him away from his work doesn't slip your hazy, fatigued mind.

"Channie, i'm sorry for being a bother."

He exhales a small, sincere chuckle through his nose, tucking his head further into your shoulder.

"You're never a bother to me, love."

a/n: how'd i do? do we like it? likes, reblogs, comments are appreciated <3

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

Hi! I love everything you’re writing so I wanted to say that 😅. Also (if you can’t and I am not bothering) I was thinking if you could have written something with Felix when the reader gets bullied (it doesn’t have to be physically) because I am kinda experiencing it and…. I wanted comfort? Hahaha it sounds strange but yeah….. thank you so much 😘

hello lovely anon <3 i'm so sorry to hear you're being bullied, i've been there too and it hurts a lot . i hope this helps a little, and my dms are always open if you need someone to talk to ! you are loved !

always forever - lee felix

pairing: lee felix x reader

summary: felix comforts you when he finds out you've been getting bullied

genre: fluff, idol! au, very angsty, reader is bullied, mentions of injury, mentions of blood and scrapes (not descriptive), lots of crying, sad shit overall, hurt to comfort

a/n: if you're being bullied, please reach out . take care of yourself lovelies 🫶

You hurry down the paved pathway, slipping between the throngs of pedestrians on the sidewalk. Mumbling a half-hearted 'sorry' to an older woman who you'd accidentally bumped, you push past the park gates and find yourself wandering the paved path through the grass.

There aren't many people around, since it's a weekday afternoon, and you're glad of it. Your tie blows in the light, summery breeze as you hurry down a widened path, the trees expertly twined together and grown over time to form a giant, leafy archway. The lush, green canopy provides a welcome shelter from the afternoon heat, and you stumble as you pass a patch of dappled sunlight that's filtering through the leaves.

You land with a solid ugh onto the pebbly pavement, the side of your head knocking a little against the ground. You wheeze, the air leaving your lungs in a low, instant huff. It hurts so bad you instantly roll onto your side. There's nothing more you want to do than curl up, lie here, and cry, but the small, sensible voice in your head tells you to stand up and find somewhere to sit.

Groaning, you heave yourself to your feet and collapse onto the nearest bench. The tears fill your eyes then and you heave, doubling over, the impact from hitting the ground, the terrible course of the day, and your general state of dishevel rushing up on you in a dizzying wave of nausea and overwhelm.

You cry.

☆☆☆

Gentle footsteps crunch against the pebbled pavement, and you feel a presence move to sit quietly beside you. Your have your knees tucked up to your chest, your head buried between them, so you have no clue who it is.

A faint scent of vanilla fans over you with the soft breeze and you feel a warm, calloused fingertip gently poke the side of your head.

You sniff. "Go away, Felix."

Felix sighs and leans his head on yours, careful not to put too much pressure on you. One hand moves to place itself on top of yours, the deep, velvety tone of his voice penetrating the walls you've built up around yourself.

"Y/n, lift your head."

"No."

"Please?"

You sigh and lift your head at his pleading request, which feels like it's made of lead, and look at him. Your eyes are red-rimmed and watery, hot tears spilling down your cheeks like little rivers of flames. Felix sighs softly and puts an arm around your hunched figure, pulling you into him gently. His warmth envelops you and it's the safest you've felt all day.

"What happened?" he says quietly so as not to scare you. "I was walking back from the shop and I saw you dashing the other way crying."

You sniff, your voice cracked and pitched in distress. "They hate me, Felix. I don't know why, it's just every time they see me, I walk away feeling like shit. They hate me and it's making me hate myself, I feel like I don't even matter-"

Felix's eyes widen and his hold on you tightens, secure and stable around your shaking figure. He lets you sob into him, and by the time you lift your head, the juncture of his neck is soaked with tears.

"Y/n," he says softly. "They're just insecure about themselves. They hate themselves so they want to make everyone else feel the same way. Don't let them."

You cry softly. "I feel so worthless, Lix..."

"You're not worthless, Y/n. You're pretty and smart and creative and stunning and the funniest person I know. I'm constantly checking my phone to see if you've texted me, and every time the door to the studio opens, I hope that it's you.

Hyunjin-hyung and Changbin-hyung tease me all the time because I talk about you so much. The boys love you, so, so much. I do too, and I need you to understand that whatever those bullies say, it's not true. You're worth everything, and I'll be here every second to remind you in case you forget."

You drop your head into his shoulder again and he cradles it close, the warmth of his hand easing the throbbing pain in your temples. You emit a weak, watery, muffled thankyou into his now-soaked shirt and he affectionately kisses the crown of your head. Cupping your face, he looks at your face, seemingly searching.

"You're hurt," he carefully brushes a thumb across your cheekbone, a slight sting following. You probably scraped it when you fell earlier. Felix retracts his hand, his thumb stained lightly with blood. You turn your hands over. The heels of your palms are in the same condition.

Felix tuts softly, stroking the inside of each wrist. "Do you wanna come back to the studio with me? Chan, Hyunjin, and Han will most likely still be there, but there's a big first aid kit in the cupboard, and Chan-hyung might be able to help fix you up."

"I don't want to burden-"

"You're not being a burden," Felix cups your face firmly. "You'll never be a burden to me. Just keep fighting and let me help. Let us help. You don't have to keep doing it alone."

You nod, and move to stand up. Your knees protest in the form of a stinging, searing pain, the scrapes disturbed. You wince and flop back onto the bench, groaning. It's replaced by a yelp as Felix hoists you effortlessly into his arms, bridal-style. Your hands lock around his shoulders and he grins.

"Let's go."

Despite the situation, a question nags at your conscience. "Lix, weren't you supposed to be at dance practice at this time? How come you were out."

Felix begins walking, a cheeky smile making its way onto his freckled face. "I snuck out because Hyunjin wouldn't stop nagging me. Besides, I wanted food from that really good ramen restaurant down the street."

You cover your mouth with a scraped hand. "The rest of the boys are never going to let this go once they find out."

Felix winces. "Oh well. I snuck out for a snack and came back with a Y/n, so I don't think they'll mind-"

You squeal and swat his chest. Felix laughs and continues carrying you down the path.

"Felix?"

He responds with a hum, still smiling softly.

"Thankyou for helping me."

Felix chuckles lightly. The arm that's cupping your shoulders squeezes gently, sending heatwaves flooding into your veins.

"Always and forever, okay?"

a/n: my heart hurts

₊⋆. 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 !

HIII MY LOVE

i was just wondering if you could do something with a foreigner!reader, who doesn’t speak korean, with han?? where they have a hard time communicating but they still wanna be together??

(btw if you have anons can i be 🪻??)

hi, love~ this was so cute, really interesting to write . this took a while but it was so worth it hehe . yes you can, my first emoji anon yayy . here you go~~

i want to understand you - (han jisung x female!reader)

pairing: idol!han jisung x female!reader

summary: the language barrier between you and jisung stops your true feelings from being communicated.

genre: angsty but happy ending, idol!au, reader is a stylist, mentions of injuries, blood, cuts, bandages, antiseptics, broken glass, jisung doesn't like being injured, chan's iconic smirk comeback, hints to chanlix and minsung, mentions of wrestling, kissing, nothing too intense i promise

a/n: this is one of my fav fics that i've written tbh . everything in bold + italic is spoken in korean. just a note !

skz masterlist

"How long have you been watching him?" Felix whispers into your ear.

"Huh?"

He smirks, nodding his head towards Jisung, who's currently messing about on set with Minho. "You've been watching him."

You scoff and push him away. "No, I haven't."

"Yes, you have."

Groaning, you brush past Felix and wander past the cameras to the other side of the MV set. It's almost midday; the sun beats down relentlessly on the pavements outside, bathing everything in a bright glow, but inside the warehouse, the lights are dimmed in shades of red, green and white, casting an eerie palette over the broken glass and haphazard items scattered about the dusty floor.

Your eyes wander to one of the camera tripods; 'ESCAPE FILMING' is written on a piece of masking tape and stuck to the side. Your gaze flits to Chan and Hyunjin; both of them are raggedy, slender figures in heavy coats and coarse clothing. They're busy talking to their manager; you duck off to the side and run straight into Felix again.

You groan. "Go away."

"Come on," he murmurs. "Go talk to him."

It's been almost a month since you took the job as a stylist with JYPE; it had been interesting, to say the least. The members took to you immediately, teasing and friendly within a couple of days. You were in awe; they were such professionals you'd been assigned to work around, but one of them had caught your eye.

Jisung.

You feel your cheeks warm as you watch him; Felix is motionless beside you, no doubt smirking, but your heart sinks as you hear the distant lilt of excitable Korean floating over the set to your ears.

"Y/n, go," Felix insists. "Talk to him."

"And how am I supposed to do that?" You whip around to face him. "I don't speak Korean, and he doesn't know enough English to be fluent in a conversation with me."

"He sings in English," Felix points out, adjusting the cuff of his hoodie. His black cap- Chan's cap- sits low on his head.

"That's because he has you and Chan to help him." You groan.

This would be so much easier if the rest of the members weren't here. You wonder what they're here for, anyway; they said they came to support Chan and Hyunjin while they filmed their music video, but you have a sneaking suspicion it was just to get out of an extra dance practice Chan scheduled for the remaining members while he was away. No doubt the maknaes' idea.

You'd fought to stay focused on doing Hyunjin's makeup that same morning; he hadn't missed the way your hand shook around your eyeshadow brush when Jisung had breezed in with a cheerful shout. If Hyunjin had noticed, he hadn't said anything, and the resulting makeup look had thankfully turned out just fine.

"Y/n."

You whip around so fast your neck hurts, and you almost trip over your own feet as you come face-to-face with Jisung. He's dressed casually, as most of the members are; his grey zip hoodie is slightly dusty, loose black jeans showing a peek of startingly white shoes beneath their hems.

His face is bare, void of makeup, and you can see the healthy pink flush on his cheekbones and the tip of his nose. His lashes blink away strands of un-styled, dark hair falling into his face; he sweeps it back effortlessly with two fingers, and his wide eyes fix themselves onto your own, a cheerful grin painting his lips.

You look around wildly for Felix to save you; he's conveniently disappeared into thin air, and you curse inwardly as you're forced to face Jisung once more. There's nowhere to run.

"Hi." Your voice sounds thin and awkward.

"Hi." He replies, an equally awkward but adorable smile curving his mouth further. Even the simple syllable sounds odd and unfamiliar to him, it seems. Tinged with his accent, the sound coming out of his mouth looks like he tasted something unusual; new and curious, but strange.

Foreign.

You stutter, unable to comprise a singular sentence. Even if you were able to at the moment, it's unlikely Jisung will understand. The past few interactions with him have shown you that.

You try anyway. "Did you need something?"

He blinks. Takes apart each word in his mind, turns his cognitive gears, and a dawning sense of confusion appears on his face despite the effort to understand. "Chan-hyung ruined his makeup again. He's busy with his outfit, but he sent me to ask you if you could quickly touch it up for him? If you're not busy..."

You're running, sprinting even, to keep up with Jisung's rapid pace of speaking. Korean tumbles out of his mouth in a smooth waterfall, each word naturally clicking into place like pieces of a puzzle.

For you, though, it's like looking at the completed picture upside down. It just doesn't make sense, and you can't tell what's he's asking by his tone like you have before.

"Chan?" You say, questioning. It was the only word you caught.

He nods once, then faster. "His makeup." He points to his leader, a distance away, who is redoing his belt and pulling on his coarse jacket for the next scene.

Jisung points to Chan again, then to his own face. He points to the crossbody bag across your waist, full of your stylist tools, and mimes swiping a brush across his cheeks.

"Oh," you say. "His makeup?"

Jisung nods frantically. You fight a smile; makeup and snacks are the only English words he seems to understand at the moment. Couldn't say you wouldn't have been the same way.

You nod once to him and awkwardly brush past him to go to Chan.

Jisung watches you go.

Chan turns round as you approach, bowing sheepishly as you pull several brushes and a chrome palette from your bag.

"Sorry for ruining it," he says as he closes his eyes. You chuckle and redo the look with a few simple strokes, and step back to make sure it's neat. You swipe a pinky across his cheekbone to remove any excess. "I saw you and Jisung talking."

You sigh. "Wasn't really talking. More..."

"Confusion?" Chan offers with a smile.

You poke him in the side and he shies away, grinning. "How long were you watching us?"

He shrugs casually, looking away. "The whole time."

You groan, cheeks flushing as he laughs. "I wish I could speak Korean fluently... Learning it takes so long, and there aren't any translating apps I can use on a day-to-day basis."

Chan does look at you then, expression empathetic. "I know it's inconvenient, Y/n, but you're making progress. Just keep at it, and while you and Jisung are both learning each other's languages, it'll become easier to communicate over time."

You look towards Jisung, who's currently reenacting the wrestling scene with Seungmin. Rapid, unfamiliar words tumble from the members' mouths at the speed of light as they laugh and clap, and you smile as Jisung emerges from underneath Seungmin with his dark hair covered in feathers.

You sigh. "I hope so."

Chan sighs, touching your shoulder in reassurance. Looking past you, he gazes fondly over the seven members, unaware of you both watching them, and chuckles. "I thought Hyunjin and I were gonna get this music video filming done fast, but... apparently not."

You smile. "I don't think they were too fond of having to do extra practice while you were away."

Chan rolls his eyes and you laugh as he runs a hand through his hair, mussing it further. There's a yelp from behind you, and Chan whips around, faster than lightning. The members have gone silent.

You're both just in time to see Jisung fall off the mattress. His hand scrapes awkwardly along the floor, where tiny fragments of glass from the stunt filming earlier scatter throughout the dust. A deep red line opens up along his forearm, and Chan swears before dashing to his side.

You come up behind Felix, calling to one of the crew members to find a tissue and water as Chan sits Jisung down properly on the mattress, brushing aside feathers.

"Are you okay?" Chan asks in worry, cradling his member's hand.

Jisung winces as a wet rivulet of blood drops onto the floor. The rest of the boys burst into concerned murmurs, jostling to see. You push past Minho with a pack of tissues, handing them to Chan. Cracking open the top of a water bottle, you dampen the centre of a folded piece of tissue and dab it gently along Jisung's forearm. He groans and attempts to pull away, but his leader holds his arm firmly, murmuring reassurance.

"There's a spare room down one of the warehouse corridors," you say to Chan. "I went there earlier to set my things up. There's a first aid kit in there."

"Is there no one on set with one already?" He says, strained. You bite your lip and look to the crew, who all look away, seemingly distracted.

Chan actually growls then, making you recoil, and mutters something that might have either been a string of expletives or a complaint about crew disorganisation.

You suppose his reaction is justified either way.

Folding the water-damp, bloodied tissue, you tuck it into your pocket and stand up. "I can take him to the room there and clean the cut," you offer. "Might be easier without all the glass around."

Chan nods, holding a hand to Jisung to stand up. "I can come with both of you-"

"No," you say firmly. "Focus on filming with Hyunjin. It's getting late and I know both of you want to be done with it. I'll take care of him."

Chan bites his lip in anxiety, clearly struggling to make the decision between staying on set and going with Jisung, but Hyunjin puts a hand on his shoulder.

"Let's get the rest of the shots done, Chan-hyung," he says. "Y/n is more than capable of taking care of the injury."

You blink, not understanding, but it seems to be enough to reassure Chan, who nods and turns away. Hyunjin follows him, and the rest of the members meekly disperse behind the cameras, far quieter than before.

You wind between crew members and filming equipment before heading down the main back corridor of the warehouse, where a spare room splits off into four smaller rooms down the way. Heading into the second door on the right, you hold the door open for Jisung before pulling out the first aid kit from a duffel bag.

You point to a chair as he closes the door. The metal of the knob is scarlet as he lets go. "Sit."

He sits and you place the kit on the cabinet, unzipping a pouch and pulling out a bandage, an antiseptic wipe, and another pack of tissues. Trying to ignore your hands shaking as you do so, you feel your cheeks warm as Jisung shuffles on the chair, a muffled disturbance in the sudden stillness of the room.

You're alone with him.

Biting your lip in an all-too-aware consciousness of the situation, you pull a chair to sit next to him, setting down the items on the plastic table. He rests his arm on the surface as you rip open the antiseptic packet, and then pause.

Gingerly, you place a light hand on his wrist and pull his forearm closer to you, beginning to gently swipe the wet wipe across the cut. A faint smell of chemical rises in the air, and Jisung discreetly exhales, making you crack a tiny smile.

His forearm is tense; you can see the stress of the situation, visible in his body language. The wipe clearly stings him, becoming redder by the minute. He lets out a tiny start, obviously fighting to keep quiet.

You can see him beginning to squirm, his bottom lip caught flush between his teeth as he chews on it in distress.

"Jisung," you say softly, pausing the cleaning to give him a break. "It's okay. You're doing well."

He doesn't respond, focused on the wound. Then, taking a deep breath, his wide eyes meet yours and he gives a tiny nod, signalling for you to continue.

You've cleaned about half of the injury's surrounding area; feeling unbelievably bold, you stroke a gentle thumb across the inside of his wrist as you swipe scarlet off his bare skin, attempting to calm him. He relaxes suddenly, and the exhale of a deeply-held breath fans lightly across your face, stirring your hair. It does nothing to cool the tension building between the both of you.

You fumble to stuff the used, damp wipe back into the packet. Jisung's eyes follow you intently; he seems to have recovered from the initial shock of injury.

He watches curiously as you tilt your head to the side, inspecting the cut, before unravelling a length of a clean rolled bandage. You lay it flat on the clean table before unwrapping four sheets of fluffy gauze, laying it on top. You undo the top off of a small tube of ointment.

"What's that?" He says.

There's a clear question in his tone; taking a wild guess, you hold up the tube. He nods.

"This? Ointment. It's to keep the wound moist," you reply. You're not sure why you bothered; he doesn't understand it anyway, and he just nods politely before continuing to gaze at the tube, most likely attempting to piece its use together in his head.

You let out a tiny sigh, almost fuming at the inconvenience of it all. You want to talk to him, understand him. But you keep quiet, clamp it down, and continue to smear the cream gently across the wound edges with a finger.

He's no longer watching the application of the cream, though; his gaze is fixed intently on your face, as if he's trying to see through you to the other side of the room. You know he's watching; you can feel his eyes burning into you, and you bite the inside of your cheek, attempting to keep composure.

"Y/n," he says softly.

You gulp and look up, pausing your ministrations. He tilts his head to the side, a strange look taking over his features. It's no secret to either of you that you can't understand the other; it seemed to you that Jisung was just never as bothered by the language barrier as you were.

Apparently not.

"Thank you for taking care of me," he says simply. Taking a deep breath, he hopes inwardly that you haven't learnt too much Korean yet, and continues to talk. "I wish I could speak more English, enough for us to communicate. I'm sorry I never told you that before. I know it makes you sad."

Silence.

"I don't know what you're saying," you murmur softly, a look of longing and resignation taking over your expression.

"I don't understand you."

You lean one hand under your head. "I wish we could communicate."

"I wish we could talk properly... This is so frustrating."

Sighing and giving up completely, you tap his wrist, and he brings it closer to you so you can wrap the injury. Delicately placing the gauze sheets along the cut, you begin to firmly wrap the bandage around his forearm, taking care not to cut off his circulation in the process. Securing the bandage with a clip, you stand and begin to dispose of the packets and tissues.

Jisung stands too, unsure, like he's waiting for direction. He opens his mouth to say something, but your thoughts are beginning to run away with you, and you speak them aloud before he has a chance to say anything.

"I wonder what things would have been like if we both spoke the same language." You throw the packets in the bin.

Jisung seems to be lost in his own thoughts too. "Maybe I could ask one of my hyungs to teach me English... or Hyunjin! He knows English too! He might be able to help..."

Yet again, the names of one of his members is the only word you can recognise amongst his rapid-fire speech.

"Hyunjin?" You say. "What about him? Did- should I go get him?" You groan in exasperation and throw your hands out, knocking the ointment off the cabinet from where you've just set it down. "What are you asking for?"

"Sorry, I don't know what you're upset about, but maybe I can ask Chan-hyung and Hyunjin for advice on what to do... Unless you've already talked to them..."

"I bet you'd sound so different talking in English," you're beginning to fume, and you feel bad, because none of this is Jisung's fault. He's Korean, he speaks it, so why are you getting so upset about not being able to communicate through the same language?

Both of you are practically talking to yourselves now; Jisung is clearly lost on another planet, seemingly recovered from the injury. You're beginning to feel yourself sink, no longer nervous around him. Now, you just feel a desperate longing.

To talk. Actually talk.

"Changbin-hyung told me that you don't speak much Korean, but maybe I could teach you? Ah, that wouldn't work, because I'd have to teach you in English first..."

You bite your lip. A dangerous thought crosses your conscience; you could just tell him. About how you feel. He might not even know what you're talking about. He probably won't.

Hopefully.

You decide to risk it. Even if he does understand, you can easily play it off as a translating mistake on his part. No worries.

"Jisung," you say cautiously.

He snaps out of his endless train of thought, and locks his gaze with yours. Like a soldier called to attention.

"Y/n," he says cheekily, though you can see his confident demeanour faltering.

"I really want to be able to talk with you," you continue. "Properly. But maybe it's a good thing we can't understand each other. I can say I love you without you understanding... Gosh, Hyunjin would have a field day making fun of us idiots. Not being able to communicate..."

Jisung blinks. Once. Twice. You see the flutter of his lashes, the cogs turning in his head, and then, very hesitantly, he steps closer. Like you're a wild animal he's trying not to spook.

You take a step back. He takes another forward.

So you step back again. Your back hits the cabinet.

Shit.

Jisung cocks his head; he looks exactly like his quokka counterpart. You blink as he frowns suddenly, then presses his hands together, slipping his fingers in a pattern over the newly wrapped bandage on his forearm.

Around and around and around. And then-

"You love Hyunjin?" Even without understanding, his tone is incredulous. Disbelieving.

"What about Hyunjin?" You say in confusion. "Clearly I've done something wrong, as your tone is telling me, but what does he have to do with it?"

Jisung groans, frustrated. "All this time. I was so happy you came to help me... I thought there might have been something between you and me, but you were just being helpful. Hyunjin, of all people."

You huff. "You keep saying 'Hyunjin' and yet, I still have no idea what you're saying."

Jisung scoffs. "Okay, relax! You don't need to keep talking about how much you love him! I get it... Damn, I'm stupid."

"...Well, you stopped saying his name, but I still don't know what you're talking about, Jisung."

"I wish I could understand you, Y/n."

"I wish you loved me."

"I want to know you. I would never let anyone hurt you, ever... But clearly, I'm not fit for it... I can't even put together a sentence in your language. How am I supposed to love you when I can't even do that?"

Your voices are rising at this point, swelling to fit the room. They mix in the air and rain down in shards, sparkling shards of glass that seem to hurt more than Jisung's forearm injury did.

Every glittering remnant makes your eyes sting until you feel a salty wetness coating your cheeks. The frustration is spilling out of you, the unfairness and utter inconvenience of it all drowning you in tumultuous, crashing waves until you are swept under the dark, powerful current, falling and falling and clawing upwards to air, to breathe, to him, but it doesn't work.

"Why can't things just be easy for once?" You cry out at him. He jolts, taken aback. "I just want to love someone, and here you are, yet I can't even tell you that I love you. I love you, Jisung, and you'll never, ever understand, and it's all my fault because I don't know any Korean enough to talk to you."

He's frozen. Pale as a ghost. And then the colour rises so fast to his face that you step forward, afraid that he might collapse or pass out or experience some other type of wildly unexpected medical occurrence that would probably make your current situation even more upsetting than it already is. If that's even possible.

"Me?" He says. His voice is shaky, strained. "You love me? Not Hyunjin?"

"Fuck, Jisung, this has nothing to do with Hyunjin. Forget about him, I'm talking about you. You might as well know since we can't fucking communicate. Do you even know what I just said, or do I just sound like an angry chicken?"

A look of understanding begins to dawn incredibly slowly on his face. He points to himself, in disbelief but still rather unsure about what you're saying. "Me?"

"Yes, you, you absolute idiot. Shit."

Jisung looks at his hands, then points to himself. He cups his hands and shakily rearranges his fingers, making a comical depiction of a heart. "You?"

"That is the most shit heart I've ever seen you make," you huff. You point to yourself, dramatically enunciating as if he was a child unable to understand anything more than the colour of the sky.

"I." You jab a finger repetitively into your chest.

"Love.." You make a heart, bending your index fingers and pushing your hands towards him. Like he could just take your love the way something might take a glass of water offered to them.

"You," you stab a finger in the air again and again, pointing to him. There's no way he's confused now.

He's still standing there, eyebrows raised, confused and in disbelief. Your mind whirrs.

How can I possibly make this any clearer? I don't know what else I'm supposed to do now... Maybe I should just brush it off and give up. The others must be wondering where we are. Hey, I bet Chan and Hyunjin are finally done filming-

Jisung's mouth crashes desperately onto yours.

Your back throbs as it's pressed against the cabinet; his chest bumps yours and your hands fly to his shoulders, clutching him as if you're drowning. A gasp slips out of your mouth before it's swallowed up; Jisung tilts his head and it's all you can do not to let your knees buckle under him.

You can feel his hair tickling your forehead as he gulps in half a breath of air, so soft, so impossibly soft, like pinfeathers under your fingers just as you'd imagined it to be. You tug him back in, gripping the neckline of his hoodie, trying to make him realise, trying to communicate everything you've been saying without saying anything at all.

He doesn't seem to care about the injury on his arm anymore, and one hand moves to cradle the back of your head, pulling you impossibly closer. He's not just kissing you, he's pouring thousands upon thousands of words into you, words he can't ever hope to tell you and words you won't ever understand.

But you do understand.

He pulls back, gasping. Your foreheads bump clumsily against each other's and he holds you fast, panting.

"Jisung," you gasp.

"Y/n," he replies breathlessly. "I love you. I love you."

You finally have some clue as to what he's saying. "I love you too."

He nods frantically, his nose brushing your cheek as he nuzzles into your neck, so hard it almost hurts. But you can't find it in yourself to care, returning the crushing affection with as much strength as you can muster, fuelled by relief and love and irrevocable joy and Jisung.

The hasty explanation of your feelings all this time evaporates off your tongue, burning into ash. You sweep it into a corner of your mind and dust the rest off Jisung's shoulders.

Chan clears his throat.

Both you and Jisung spring apart as if burned. Chan stands in the doorway, arms crossed as he leans against the frame. There's a delighted smirk painted across his face, the remainder of his dark, raw makeup smudged and faded. There's a feather in his hair, and he regards the two of you with a cool stare.

"So," he says slowly, clearly fighting the urge to tease. He speaks in English and Korean, so that both of you can understand.

Chan adjusts his coarse jacket. "Did you two finally manage to communicate? Did you finally manage to talk properly?"

Jisung grins.

a/n: div by @aquazero

ttokki's taglist: @emilywhyyy @galaxy4489 @hyuneskkami @justsomekpopstuff @wavetohannie @strayingawayy @its-stayville-forever @batty-barty-crouchjr @wickedbutlovely @headfirstfortoro @lov3yv4mps @possum-playground @bear8585 @astraystayyh @m-325 @gnabnahcbby @mbioooo0000 @akindaflora @tsunderelino @hhwangsmoon @crazyforthatbangchandude @bluebellsringinghereandthere @ladylexis

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omg love your new theme, it's so cuteee😭💖

thank youuu 🫶 i felt like switching it up for a bit before i take a break

hello 😁 i hope u are good 🫶 can i req something pls? 🙏 i saw ur post abt protective skz with their maknae reader but what abt a protective reader? 😏 who is usually shy, but loses her temper when angry: doesn't take hate lightly, makes sure they eat and rest, unafraid of talking back, ready to fight off anyone, glaring at everyone (it would be cute, but it gets scary when she is mad mad), etc. 🤔

hi this is a cool request~ i bet the boys would have a lot of fun with a scary member who's also really cute >< here you go !!

₊✩‧₊˚౨ ot8!skz x protective fem!reader ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

pairing: ot8!skz x protective fem!reader

summary: how skz would be around a protective ninth member <3

genre: idol!au, 9th member!au, mentions of eating and drinking, chan shaking in his boots lmao

a/n: this aesthetic is so cute . . . div by @huraxy

skz masterlist

usually you're super chill

like kind of shy, really; not the type to shout or mess around like the guys do

most of the time, you're by felix or minho's side

because they're the least chaotic members of the group (most of the time anyway)

and it's just nice to be all quiet and observant from behind their shoulders

they know you're kind of shy, but oh man, wait til you get mad

even the maknaes shut up instantly when you raise your voice

bc you mean BUSINESS

doesn't matter how short you are you'll fight anyone within a certain distance

including chan (crazy right?)

who is also scared of your temper, even if it doesn't show up that often

which is why it's so terrifying when your voice booms through the studio or recording room, louder than thunder

everyone just keeps their head down and listens to you

hyung line is secretly so jealous of your commanding aura

after you're done shouting you just kind of go back to your normal shy demeanour, or leave the room

and everyone's just left shaking in their boots like

what the fuck??

you don't get angry often, and it's always for a valid reason, so they get it

stay knows that too; you've told interviewers and tv show hosts and even mnet staff to back off or stop being rude

you can make anyone listen; no one expects the shy little member to have the strongest voice

same with rude 'fans'

they don't always listen but most of them have a very healthy respect for your emotions

you're always making sure skz takes care of themselves too

especially the members who tend to overwork or get distressed easily

you always make sure to chase them up and give them something to eat

or tell them to go and drink water

or you just hold a fistful of their hair firmly (without hurting them) and watch them actually ingest food

they always give you pouty eyes but you never give in

you're just hardcore like that

and you don't let them go until they've swallowed the last mouthful

when you guys go out to eat, you're the person always heaping food on their plates

'eat eat you EAT'

bc i know these mfs forget to nourish themselves properly

so it's nice to have you take care of them

especially the younger ones

they do the same for you too, but they wouldn't dare touch your hair

they're too scared to in fear of messing it up and irritating you

the sassier ones like minho and seungmin are amazed at how much you talk back

like it's insane

chan schedules extra practice? "i don't want to, we already have so much to do"

hyunjin wants to have his vocal lesson before yours? "i scheduled mine earlier so you should have done the same"

you're just an absolute lion

sometimes you have to get told off because you're getting too sassy

but the boys can't help but take it easy on you

you're just so cute

even if you act like a demon from the underworld

oh well

but

even your gaze is scary

the boys often find themselves jumpscared

like they'll walk into a room and you're just sitting there like >:|

like an owl

you know how they have big wide eyes that stare into your soul?

your gaze is like that

felix jokes that you could burn lasers with how intense your stare is

it even looks intense when you're just sitting having a great time

in dead silence

the members don't mind though, whatever makes you happy makes them happy too !!

they get used to your little habits, and they all work around your demeanour

you're all one big happy group <3

a/n: okay maybe i wrote headcanons because i don't have the motivation nor the energy to write a full fic . . . oh well

ttokki's taglist: @emilywhyyy @galaxy4489 @hyuneskkami @justsomekpopstuff @wavetohannie @strayingawayy @its-stayville-forever @sillyseob @wickedbutlovely @headfirstfortoro @lov3yv4mps @possum-playground @bear8585 @astraystayyh @m-325 @gnabnahcbby @mbioooo0000 @akindaflora @tsunderelino @hhwangsmoon @crazyforthatbangchandude @bluebellsringinghereandthere @ladylexis @tillaboo @geni-627 @jsngprk-vhs @de-uns-tempos-pra-ca

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